Doors Of Perception: The 77th Hunger Games
by Christoph Andretti
Summary: After the events of the 76th Hunger Games, the next Rebellion is in full effect. So what better way to test out their objective than in the Games! We are crossing dimensions and Universes! Closed! See Breaking The Void: The 77th Hunger Games for details.
1. Prologue Part 1: The New Victor

"I noticed that you seemed very withdrawn from the rest of group when we arrived in District Nine. Barley told me that you also did that for the entire Tour."

When Aslovee entered the place that was given to me after he became victor, he knew This place is nothing like District 9, at all. The walls are made of golden white shit, he thought. The tables are shining in the light of the golden chandeliers, made of glass. There are a lot of things that he could not name, however.

The best of all things is the toilet. There's a shiny blue toilet bowl, a bloody red faucet, a colorful shower with fancy curtains, and a golden yellow bathtub. The bathroom has too many accessories, but the shower looks like the best one that he had seen in his entire life.

So He took a shower, and when he came out, Russell, the psychologist, was sitting on the cozy red sofa. . It is his first session. He sat with them and Russell starts the conversation.

"That's normal for me."

"But you barely talked to anyone the whole time."

"Also normal."

"So it's normal to be secluded?"

"Secluded? Like alone?"

Russell nodded.

"Everybody needs to be alone sometimes."

"Now, we noticed in the arena that your reaction to the deaths around you was quite muted. We're worried that your humanity has been lost in the situation you were in."

"You wanted me to show humanity? In the Games?"

"That's not what I meant. It's okay to be upset over what happened."

"I'm not upset. I did what I had to do. I'm sure you would have done the same thing."

"I'm afraid of blood."

"What?"

"I can't stomach the sight of blood. Makes me sick." Russell said with a cringe.

"How does that make you feel?"

"I just said it makes me nauseous. And don't turn this around. This is about you. You're in a safe place. Say whatever you want."

"So I can just pour out about all the bullshit around me and you won't tell anyone."

"I mean, if you're going to kill yourself, I have to tell somebody. Speaking of that, how's the medication?"

"I'm not taking it."

"Why not?"

"You gave me the wrong shit."

"It was just muscle relaxer."

"I got horse tranquilizers."

"Oh, shit. Really? Why didn't you tell us sooner?"

"Slipped my mi-."

"Hey, Aslovee. Sorry to interru-."

"Who the hell are you?" He said to the boy.

"I could ask the same thing. I'm Christian."

"And what are you doing in this house?"

"Aslovee?" Christian said.

"They live here now."

"They?"

"His sister lives here, too."

"So you're letting people just come and go in here?"

"Nope. I only invited them."

"You can't keep secrets like that. It's not good for you."

"Why should you care?"

"It's not that I car-. I mean, no. That's not what I meant. I do care. I'm just s-saying that we want to keep close tabs on you."

"So I don't end up like Catnip."

"Katniss."

"I forget her name."

Christian knocked the glass on the wall. "Sorry, but I just wanted you all to know that the tea is ready. You want some?"

Russell turned to Aslovee. "Do I want some?"

"Will it calm you down?"

"I don't need to be calmed down. I'm fine."

"Go ahead, Christian. Put some of those pills in his tea, too."

Christian left.

"I'm glad you have a funny bone."

"I was serious."

"How about this?" Russell reached into his brown satchel and pulled out a laminated piece of paper. "Since you can't verbalize how you feel, visuals will help. This is a feelings chart. Point to what you feel."

Aslovee took the laminated paper. On it were faces of various colors. Green was happy. Red was angry. Blue was sad. A few more faces dotted the paper, and short descriptions filled out the space next to them.

"Where's bored?" Aslovee said.

"It's not on there."

"Okay. Then I'm mad."

"Excellent. I mean, not excellent. I'm just happy you're being aware of your emotions. So why are you angry? Do you feel that the world around you is strangling your freedom. Is your need for companionship being fulfilled with the two residents here?"

"None of that. I just hate how bored isn't on the paper."

Russell sighed. "Very well. What about your social life so far? You've gone into town, haven't you?"

"Yeah. Usually to get some things."

"What things?"

"Things."

"Illegal things?"

"I don't shoot up, if that's what you're asking. Drugs are fucking disgusting."

"But you used to steal them."

"That was only three times. And it was for money. It's not like I wanted to steal. Some shitheads out there aren't that bad. They're just making a living."

"So you feel guilty for stealing."

"No. Again, I needed to do it."

"But you hadn't killed anyone before. Were you prepared to take such a leap even if it was for your survival in the Games?"

"I did kill someone before."

Jerome's eyes grew to the size of dinner plates. He looked down at his clipboard and flipped through the pages on it. After checking them all, he let them rest and stared at Aslovee.

"That's not in the file. Care to explain?"

"The only explanation I could think of is that your information doesn't go back that far."

"No. I mean, you killed someone before?"

An alarm clock on the table sounded.

Russell turned it off and sighed again. "I'm going to have an interesting talk to the reconnaissance department tomorrow. Thank you for your cooperation, Aslovee. I mean it."

Aslovee looked back at Russell with the same bored expression as usual.

"So, goodbye. I'll see you in three days. You're liaison will be here in an hour."

"Liaison?"

"Yes. Your conduit for communication between us and the Capitol. She will bridge the gap for us to give you information you need from you-know-where. By the way, she's going to have to stay here with you for a few days every two weeks."

"I have plenty of company with Isabel and Christian."

"Then Think of her as like a maid or something. You can work on what we talked about."

"We talked about a lot of things."

"Social skills. See you around."

Russell grabbed his beret and stepped out into the cold.

An hour later, a knock came from the door.

Aslovee opened it.

A girl with flowing blonde hair and pale green eyes stood in a pink jacket and black snow pants.

"Holy shit. You're that girl from that party."

She looks gobsmacked for a few seconds. Her mouth is ajar slightly, and her eyes shift towards Isabel and Christian behind him. "I thought it was only us."

"Only us?" Aslovee asked.

"Is this what you're using your money for?" Isabel asked with a chuckle.

"Oh, I-I'm the liaison. We met at the Victor's Ball."

"So are you actually from the Capitol?"

"Yes I am."

"Pretty suspicious seeing a Capitol girl over here," Christian said.

"It's okay. Barley hired me."

"Barley?"

"I, uh..." Then, her eyes widened in revelation. She took off her purple backpack and unzipped it. She pulled out a Manila folder and handed it to Aslovee. He looked at the cream paper inside.

"There's nothing on he-."

"Oh, I'm so sorry. It's...uh...invisible. In case anybody checked me. Can I come in? The snow is getting stuck in my hair."

Once inside at the dining room, the girl threw herself on a thin grey chair. She shrugged off her jacket, leaving her with a white sweater.

"I just made tea," Christian said. "I'll warn you. It may have horse tranquilizers in it."

"You're such a comedian, Christian." Isabel said.

"Thank you. Anyway, Aslovee needs to read what's on the paper. Do you have an iron we can use?" She said.

"What do we need an iron for?"

"To read the ink," Aslovee said.

"How the hell do you know that?" Isabel asked.

Aslovee said nothing and walked up the stairs. Isabel and Christian looked at the girl as discretely as they could. The siblings tensed up while meandering around the warm dining room, unable to determine the correct actions for the situation. Whenever the girl looked up at them, they immediately shied away their eyes from her vision.

Aslovee came down with the iron and plugged it into the socket. He gave the iron to the girl, and she started to run the paper on the glass table.

"Try not to get smudges." Aslovee said.

"What do you need an iron for, anyway? When would you use it?" Isabel asked.

"Maybe I like to take care of my clothes. It's not like I've had a closet before." He said.

"Uh," Aslovee turned to the girl. She stopped and looked at his black eyes. "I'm not very good with names."

"Oh! I'm Kim."

"You gave me those aspirins at the party."

"Barley saw me and thought I would make a good candidate for the job."

"Which is?" Christian asked.

"I don't mean to be rude, but I can't tell you. Only Aslovee."

"Okay. Victor shit. This is what you get living, bro." Isabel said.

"I guess we'll leave you two alone. 'Toby' is on, anyway."

"What?"

"It's TV. I suggest you catch up at some point."

The brother and sister left.

"So I think I have it pretty much down.". Kim said.

Aslovee looks down at the paper. Faint black ink appears on the surface. He picked up the warm paper from the steaming iron. Wafting the moist face in the cozy air, he straightened it and looked down at the writing.

Two minutes later, he ripped it up.

Kim snatched the torn pieces of paper. "No! Don't rip it up yet"

"They said to destroy it" Aslovee said, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes, but after I'm done explaining things to you."

"It seems pretty self-explanatory"

Kim straightened her hair. "Yes, but I just wanted to express how important this is."

"The only thing it really says is your job description which I guess is like a glorified mailman. And they picked you from the Capitol to lower suspicion. Not to mention, your fake IDs."

"Well," Kim said. "Something like that. I'm also here to help you adjust to your new life and tell you about the ongoings at you know where and where I'm from. We can't give you anything directly. Also, don't take this the wrong way."

Aslovee stared at her.

"I need to make sure that you'll be able to fit in well. Especially when you return to the Capitol in a few weeks and not cause any more trouble."

"That makes no sense. And since when am I going back to that shithole?"

"I'm just here to help with what they tell me to help you with. I'm sorry."

Aslovee moved closer to her. "Don't apologize. You haven't done anything wrong."

Kim leaned back slightly. "But it feels like I did. If I ever do anything wrong, let me know."

"Relax. I'm not going to whip you."

Kim giggled. "You're funny."

"I was being serious."

"I'm nervous. That's all."

"It said something about execution so like if I fire you you die."

"And my parents, too. They kind of drag them into this. But I guess that's just the fun of Revolution."

"So the folks at that place don't trust me." He said.

Kim took in a deep breathe. "I'm going to make sure you don't cause trouble. Not saying that you will cause any trouble! I'm just saying that...we're your friends and we're trying to do our best to make sure that nothing bad happens and we're just making sure you get all the help you need."

Friends? Aslovee thought the Rebels considering him a friend was funny. At the moment, Aslovee wasn't sure if they were any better than the Capitol. Mostly because he thought they were bat shit insane.

"So the doctor guy that just left wasn't enough?"

Kim stuttered. "Not really. No. I mean...I'm sorry if I'm being a nuisance. But I really have to make this work."

Aslovee wouldn't consider himself easily swayed by overpowering emotion. However, she was almost being held against her will just to act as an information conduit between him, the Rebels, and the Capitol. And her life was in his hands? The only reason Aslovee wasn't fazed was because he figured many others lives were in his hands since he was confronted by the Rebels.

"Okay so what are you going to do now?"

"I'm really tired, so can I just find the place to sit down?"

"I made mackerel."

Kim looked up at Aslovee. "Can I have some? I mean, it's okay. I can just go somewhere and grab a sandwich."

"You said you're going to be here for a few weeks?"

She nodded.

"Then you're having mackerel."

"I thought you were allergic to fish."

"Who told you that?"

"I guess your file isn't very well put together."

In the dining room, Isabel and Christian are sitting on the left side of the rectangular glass table. They were stuffing pieces of fish in their mouths and downing frosty glasses of cola. Aslovee was at the other end of the table eating extremely slow. He shifted around the food on his plate, separating the green beans and carrots into different sections from the mackerel. His eyes kept peeking up towards the television Isabel and Christian were fixated with. Kim looked over at Aslovee, and she blushed slightly.

"Uh...what are you doing?" She asked.

Aslovee snapped his eyes away from the screen towards Kim.

"He doesn't like food touching." Christian said without looking away from the television.

"It's better than being a slob." Aslovee said.

"You know, I made the tea. The least i could get is a thank you."

"I made the mackerel. Wanna try again?" Aslovee asked with narrowed eyes.

"I got you a victory cake when you came back." Christian said, pointing his fork towards Aslovee.

"I got you a house, shithead." Aslovee said.

Kim suppressed a smile. "So that's how you all came in here?"

Isabel whipped her head towards Kim and narrowed her eyes at the green-eyes girl. "That's funny to you, Capitol?"

"What?"

"That we were out on the street? We're just so below you, aren't we?"

"No! I don't care about that."

"I bet you were right there with all of those Capitol girls, weren't you? You love the Games, right?"

"What? I mean, I-I know more than I did a month ago."

"So you do like the Games?" Aslovee said, his face unreadable.

"I don't like lying," Kim shouted. The three around the table stared at her. She looked at all of them. Her eyes were wide, and her cheeks were redder than before. "I wasn't a huge fan of them, but it looked...f-fun. Just fun to look at! Not actually fun. Every teenage girl goes through that Games phase."

"The problem is that they never grow out of it." Christian said.

"The Games don't matter anymore. I-I'm sorry."

Kim looked down at her plate. Her arms were shaking slightly, almost negligible in movement if Aslovee was not placed so close to her. He was tensed up. His back was straight resting on the backboard of his chair. He kept looking at Kim, the interrogative words making her nervous. Aslovee had no idea what to do next. It was true that Kim was apart of those disgusting shitheads in the Capitol. However, if Russell and Barley hand picked her from the Capitol to work as this helper of sorts, then she had to be a little trus-acceptable for him at the moment.

Aslovee put his hand on Kim's head.

Kim looked at him with surprise painted on her face.

"Are you petting her?" Christian asked with a snort.

Aslovee ignored him. He looked straight into Kim's eyes. A few more tough seconds stretched through the commotion from the television.

He retracted his arm.

Kim had no idea what just happened. Was Aslovee making fun of her? Comforting her? Forgiving her? Condescending her?

Aslovee gasped. Then, he took a round velvet circle with the Panem flag emblazoned on it and slid it towards her. Then, he took Kim's tea and set it on the surface.

"Make sure you use coasters." He said.

Isabel hushed everybody. "Nobody breathe. Nobody talk. The results are in."

On the television screen, an old man in a blue turtleneck sweater identified as Toby sat in a plush red chair. Opposite of him was a skinny white lady in a puffy brown dress next to a skinny balding man. The audience was uproarious as Tony started to open up the envelope.

"Now, Liam, if this child is yours, you're going to be there for her and Miley, right?"

A beep sounded from the screen. "Man, I'll be there."

"Very well." Toby opened up the envelope. Silence fell on the crowd.

"In the case of two month old Hannah, Liam..."

"This is it. Better pay up." Isabel said to Christian who snorted with laughter.

"You are not the father."

Isabel groaned while Christian laughed mirthlessly.

"What the hell is this?" Aslovee asked with an unimpressed glance.

"It's 'Toby.' A Capitol show. They do paternity tests and everything on here."

"Who would like this shit? That's not " Aslovee asked to himself.

Kim slowly raised her hand.

Aslovee glared at her before getting up and leaving.

Isabel turned back to Kim. "Take your time warming up to him, Cap. He's an acquired taste."

"You didn't actually think he was the father, did you?" Christian asked her.

"You have to look at the forehead. If they don't match, they're not related."

Christian nodded and turned to Isabel. "I think I'm going to like her."

* * *

**Come one, come all! It is the next SYOT in my little series. Despite this being a sequel to Odyssey Of The Stars, you will not require past information to enjoy this. Just sit back, submit people, and enjoy the**

**mayhem!**

**Special Co-Writer for the chapter: Platrium! I am thinking of collaborating with people, so if you have interested as well, ask! Regardless, Platrium is throwing a hat in the ring, and I plan on working together for a few more chapters!**

**OC forms are on my profile. I may ask for further information in the future. For now, basic information will do. We will be crossing the**

**void of space for this one. What do I mean by that?**

**im not saying yet!**

**please enjoy. ask me questions about anything! It it important.**

**Also, I am trying a new thing! What I am going to do is I am going to highlight a story, and if you review said story, you get 10 extra sponsor points! I will be checking to see who reviews. And real reviews, please. Not that "it's kewl" shit.**

**The first one is Thou Art Mortal. Not only am I in that, but it is criminally**

**underrated with the amount of chapters**

**and words! See it!**

**The alternative option is one of my favorite fanfictions of all time! "Human Immortality Project" by A.T Fields. For those that don't know, its an Evangelion fic. However, previous knowledge of the source material is not required! It is also criminally underrated, so go check it out and thank me later!**

**Review early and often!**


	2. Tribute List

**ALRIGHT LADIES AND GENTLEMAN, here is the new and updated Tributes list. Three to go for 24!**

**TH****E**** TRIBUTES**

**District 1**

Male: Erik Scall (17)-Sillymoose13

Female: Cierro Opere (17)-Vulkodlak

**District 2**

Male: Augustine 'Gus' Vestus (15)-PenMagic

Female: Ayden Everett (17)-The Knife Throwing Expert

**District 3**

Male: Jason "Jace" Castellan (18)-sonofthetrigod

Female:Lizzie Stratton (15)-HiddenAngelWithWhiteWings

**District 4**

Male: Triton St. Pierre. (16)-Mon Devou

Female: Kerri "Ice" Wakai (14)-Platrium

**District 5**

Male: Oscar Timas (15)-stellaslomp

Female: Chloe Garret (15)-dothegeekdance

**District 6**

Male: Tucker 'Tuck' Obsidian (14)-PenMagic

Female:

**District 7**

Male: Xenophon Cupress (14)-grandvizier547

Female: Larissa Savoy (17)-bobothebear

**District 8**

Male:Emerson Aquinas Locke (18)-IShipElectricChairs

Female:Maiza (Mai) Bluhurte-Naomi Taochi

**District 9**

Male: Leslaw Valince (16) Naomi Taochi

Female: Erytheia Perzsi (15)-KeketTheDestroyer

**District 10**

Male: Bruce Willysium (16)-Platrium

Female: Sylvia Carlson (17)-grandvizier527

**District 11**

Male:

Female: Adalena Farnahm (17)-hollowman

**District 12**

Male:

Female:Petunia Arkgrime (16)-TheClumsyAssassin

* * *

**A new and revised sponsor list for points is up next!**


	3. District 7 Reapings

Xenophone Cupress

"I thought the whole thing was bullshit."

The fifteen year old boy with peanut butter brown hair and green eyes sat on the worn log with a small black book in his lap. Circling his thumbs over the paperback, he shifted his head towards the girl next to him who had her eyes closed. She rested her head on her hand, letting the soft buzz of the crickets and chirping of birds muffle the sound of Xenophone's whining.

"It's pretty obvious it was covered up. Did you see the shimmer around the arena? That's the force field that kept everything in. They turned it off to let in all that space junk. I guess that girl was smart enough to know the window of opportunity."

"So they didn't explode." Monica said in a flat tone.

Xenophone scoffed. "It's a long way down from space. Even if they blew past the force field, which they did, there are so many things that would go wrong. Their ashes are probably blowing around the clouds right now."

"Great image."

"Sadly, there isn't much at the library on the mechanics of spaceships and outer space and whatever the hell else. So, it was computers to the rescue again. And guess what?"

Monica stayed silent.

"Are you listening?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Anyway, the computer didn't have anything either. I can't catch a break, can I?"

"I guess not."

"You're just filled with ethereal insight today, aren't you?"

"What?"

"What?"

"What does 'ethereal' mean?"

"Forget it. The big thing I need to tell you is that...remember that girl at the interviews last year? The one with the writing fetish?"

"I guess."

"Well, she was talking about this author named Ernest Hemingway. People got really curious about him. Now, they're trying to squash that bug as fast as they can."

"Who?"

"The Capitol. Point is, you can't mention the guy without being dragged away and offed by some sort of weapon. That being said, there was a restricted place in the library I've been scouting out. Being the unadventurous person I am, I decided to get somebody to run in there and do some shopping."

"Did you ask nicely?"

"Money is the most powerful drug. So, he brought back some Hemingway and a biography. And guess what? The guy wrote fucking novels. Novels. I guess I could find something of historical value, but otherwise, I don't want it."

"Why not?"

"I just want the facts. I don't need some drunk guy's ramblings about existential dread bouncing around my head. It distracts me from the real stuff that happened. So I saw the biography instead. Now, I'll spare you the details about this guy and his private life with some kids and a wife and drowning his liver with alcohol. Instead, I read about this war that he went through. He drove an ambulance during something called the First World War. Imagine that. The whole world in a war. And we thought Panem was bad. But that leads to another thing. What world? We know shit about the globe, and even less about what's right beneath our feet. Who walked here hundreds of years ago? How did the world get in a war? For that matter, how did that space debris get up there to begin with? There has to be some point in the past where other humans went into space."

"Yup."

"And what about that Bible I found a few weeks ago? Where does that fit in?"

"Yup."

"I get some of the things from way in the past, but I can't find a correlation to how we got to this point. No turn of the tide, no warning signs, no nothing. Unless it was the First World War that caused it. But then why is it called the First World War? There had to be another one, right?

"Yup."

"You're not getting a word, are you?"

"Yup."

Xenophone sighed. "It's okay. I barely understand either. I wouldn't expect you to."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, I'm not saying you're stupid. I'm just saying that no one else really thinks about this."

"You've been doing this since the day I met you. Can you just admit that this place is a shithole and leave it at that?"

"No! There is so much more! Don't you get why that's important?"

"Not really."

Xenephone looked around. "Regardless, if Hemingway's biography survived, there has to be more. Right now that's the best picture of pre-Panem life so far. Other than that Bible."

"Isn't that a weird word? Bible?"

Xenophone shook his head. "So after that whole discussion about it yesterday, that's all you took from it?"

"I guess I don't like talking about things that will get me killed."

"Speaking of getting killed, what're you doing after the reapings?"

"Whatever you are, I guess."

* * *

Larissa Savoy

Larissa realized her efforts for the paper crane were in vain. Despite priding herself on the crumpled up drawings and writings hidden from the world in her desk drawer, she could not master the art of folding paper. It ticked her to no end, and it was moments like these, bunched up throughout the day, that made her squeeze her fists and pound on the desk.

When her parents called her down to the dining room, she gasped. Looking back at the mangled paper, she shoved them into the top drawer and slammed it shut.

She walked down the dingy steps into the cramped dining room. At a long table, a few plates were resting in front of a group of family members. Her aunt, uncle, and grandparents all moved in after the unfortunate circumstances of their newfound poverty. With the grey walls enclosing them in the small space, the frosted windows obscured the view outside into the lower middle class neighborhood.

She sat down at the wooden table. The family members room their seats in shaky wooden chairs.

Larissa's mother stirred the steaming scrambled eggs on her plate. "You have your clothes ready?"

Larissa nodded. "Mmmhmm." She hummed through the food she was gouging into her mouth.

"Yes, those colored rags. Are they ready?" Her Grandmother said with a chuckle.

"Mom, it's the reapings. Please stop." Larissa's mom said.

The old lady scoffed. "You wouldn't be so nervous if it wasn't for the tesserae."

"You know we had to do that."

"I guess running companies into the ground would do that, wouldn't it?" She said.

Larissa's head grew light. She always grew queasy during confrontations, but her family issues always exaggerated those feelings.

Larissa's dad stroked his wife's long brown hair. "Calm down, honey. We're fine today. We don't need fighting."

"We didn't need tesserae either."

"Yes we did, mom. Stop it. Larissa," her mom turned to a surprised Larissa. "How's the food?"

She smiled. "It's great. It reminds me of that New Years party a few years ago."

"Back when we could actually have parties?" Grandma asked with a sneer.

Her mom got up and took her plate. "I'll get your clothes ready."

After eating in cold silence, Larissa got dressed in her best pink blouse and straightened her hair. With a few hugs to go around to the family inside, she departed with a cringe on her face. Her shoulders were hunched up, and her head was kept down from the peering sight of the less fortunate surrounding her new home. Larissa walked down the cobblestone street. A smaller girl joined her in the middle of the road.

Vee. Her only friend. The girl with black hair patted her on the shoulder.

"How's everything?" She asked.

Larissa nodded and drew a thin smile. "Fine."

"We both know that's not true."

Larissa's face fell. "It's that obvious?"

Vee nodded.

Larissa sighed. "They were fighting about money again."

"It's no big deal. They didn't break anything this time, did they?"

Larissa shook her head. "I guess it's a good day when they're not throwing things in anger at each other."

They continued to pace down the trampled street in the sweltering noon sun blanketed by the moist air. With the large crowd funneling into the town square, Larissa started to feel her heart jitter with nerves. The rumbling of feet on the ground vibrated up her legs, causing a metronome effect to cling onto her insides. Soon, she made it to the line. She neared the end. With every step, the thumping grew harder, and it caused her head to grow lighter in fear. When she got to the entrance, a brown haired lady with a nasally voice barked out at her to reach out her hand. The sun stabbed at her eyes as the needle entered her finger.

A quick gasp.

The lady gave Larissa a curt nod, and the teenager proceeded into the reaping area. Larissa walked to her age section, careful not to touch any of the shoulders around her. The last thing she wanted in this unnerving cemetery was unwanted human contact.

She kept herself to the edge of the large pen with the intent of a hasty escape the moment the two Tributes vanished from the wooden stage.

However, there was a smaller splatter of excitement at this years Reapings. A few people were talking and joking around. Some excited whispers raced around the people huddled together. With the decent result of last year's Games, along with Seven trying to reinvent itself as a formidable Games opponent, the teenagers in the District were less subdued at the Reapings. In fact, a few boys were even tapping their feet and fidgeting around in anticipation or impatience. For some reason, this made Larissa feel a dearth in her stomach. Surely, people here didn't get excited over this whole affair?

A large man with bald hair and a handlebar moustache graced the stage with a twirl and bowed at the mute crowd. A few people smirked at the man, and somebody even whistled in jest. The man let out a high-pitched squeal of a laugh.

"Come one, come all, to this year's annual Hunger Games. I'm glad to see that this crowd is a little more festive than the ones in previous years. I guess that new training center finally got people to live a little."

A few snickers escaped into the air.

"Now, for my favorite movie of the year, let's roll the video the Capitol has graciously lent us." The man snickered.

A couple of groans ringed through the thick air as the traditional Games video. Larissa felt _

The man guffawed. "Without further ado, let us get to the main event. Ladies first, as always."

He reached over towards the glass bowl shining in the glow of the clear sky. Taking his stubby fingers, her grips a slip of paper and holds it out to his face.

"And our female tribute this year is Larissa Savoy."

"Our male tribute is Mister Zane Cu-."

"I volunteer."

A slender young man stared up at the stage with a stony expression of deaf contemplation. It was as if he didn't yet hear himself volunteer. After the loud murmurings and slanted stares, he got the message that it was him that would have to walk up to the stage.

"And your name is?"

The boy turned to the crowd. "I'm Xenephone Cupress."

The man nodded before taking Larissa by the shoulder. He pushed the two closer to the point that their sides bumped into the other. "I humbly present this years tributes for the Hunger Games."

* * *

"When you get there, please don't go on about your theories."

Xenephone lay with his hands resting behind his head on a pearl white couch in a bright room. The only other furniture inside was a leather love seat and a brown coffee table complete with lavender-scented candles fuming on the edge. The sunlight was half obscured by the purple curtain shrouding the window, leaving a dark wall of shadow draping half of Xenephone's face, with the other half of his head in the sunlight. His eyebrows were furrowed, and he traced his thumbs on the edge of the couch.

"What theories?" He asked.

"About things that aren't true." His mom said. Xenephone's parents and brother were standing by the doorway of the room, incensed from his brash decision. In fact, it seemed that the bust of President Kirkland was separating them from nearing him.

"You two are ridiculous. I can't be the only person in the world that cares about the world."

"Everybody! Just stop." Zane said. His outburst immediately silenced the terse room. "Why did you fucking do that?"

Xenephone sat up on the couch. "Do what?"

"Volunteer. For me. You knew I had to do this."

"Don't act so sad about it. You've all been waiting for an excuse to get rid of me for years. Well, here you go." Xenephone threw his hands up.

His dad's face fell from it's stern uplift to a more melancholy state. "Xenophone, we didn't want you to go into the Games."

"Stop acting sad, dad. You love this."

"You did this so you could get away from us?" His mom asked.

"I don't want to talk about it."

A knocking on the door interrupted the family. The door opened. Monica walked inside.

"I guess we should leave you two. Good luck, boy." His dad said.

"Be smart." His mom walked over and gave him a loose hug.

Zane stood by the door, shaking his head at Xenephone. He turned and walked away in front of his parents, who held their heads down. What would the people at the training center say?

Xenephone stood up as Monica walked closer.

"Aren't you supposed to be smart or something?"

Xenephone sighed. "You know, things like that don't make me feel any better."

"It's not like there's much else that will."

The boy looked at Monica. "I'm not a huge fan of...you know. Emotions. But I think I should say something."

"Like what?"

"About us."

"Okay, time out. There is no 'us'. We never did anything that could make us 'us'."

"No. I know that. I mean, just about us. But not in that way."

"What is it?"

Xenophone took a step towards Monica. Then, he reached his hand out and gripped the back of her head. In the flicker of the light dimming from a cloud outside, Xenephone kissed Monica. Her eyes widen in shock, but she stayed in his arms. He wasn't sure if it was from shock, relief, or a cocktail of the two feelings. It was a warm, blurred sensation, almost like drunken stupor, but not entirely unpleasant.

When he pulled back, Monica stepped backwards and stammered. "What the hell was that?"

Xenephone wiped his mouth. "You could have at least closed your mouth all the way. I think I kissed your teeth."

"Why did you kiss me?"

Xenephone stared at Monica for a few tense seconds. The soft rumblings of the crowd reverberated around the silent, sun infused room.

Xenephone coughed. "Well, I'm not stupid. I know the odds in that place. And you're the only person that really heared what I said, even if you never listened. And...I never kissed a girl before. So there."

Monica moved a little closer to Xenephone. "You know, you're not bad looking. If you weren't a lunatic, maybe we could have gone out."

"Or at least have sex?"

"Fuck you. Anyway, you can make it out. Just don't be you in there, alright?"

Xenephone sighed. "Very well. I think I have to go. Wish me luck."

"Bye."

* * *

"See you, baby. Don't forget where you are from."

"I'm so scared."

"I know you are. I am, too. But I promise that you can use that energy of fear into something amazing. That's how I married your mom, after all."

Larissa smiled through her tears. "Thank you. I'll do my best."

Larissa loved her family to death. Even if they caused her much frustration and fear. Fear of rejection, sadness, betrayal, and even the superficial elements of living a less-glamorous lifestyle that they had been used to. At the end of the day, Larissa wanted to be anybody except herself. It was an odd inclination to rip herself out of her skin and be a different person. One without these social issues or worries of her splintering home life.

The Games were a solution. One that she didn't want, but a solution regardless.

* * *

**I find it funny how I did not factor in real life as a reason for not updating. However, writing is real life to an extent. It is all art, correct?**

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	4. Prologue Part 2: Game Setup

The cigarette smoldered on the ash tray in the sunlight. The smoke rose and collided with the light rays coming through the window of the board room. Placed on the fiftieth floor, cold wind rattled the large glass stationed behind the long mahogany table.

"President Kirkland, I looked over the budget deficit of the past two years. For the first time in twenty years, we're in the green."

President Kirkland was a younger man around his late 20's. He had sand-blonde hair with emerald eyes. He had a more genial air around him. He was more relaxed, calmer, and approachable than many of the Presidents in the past. In fact, this is just what the Rebels counted for. A president that would be more sympathetic to the outside world.

"How the hell did that happen? I thought we'd be more in debt than ever." He said.

"War does wonders for the economy. We would have even more if it wasn't for the Games." A skinny old man said from a leather chair.

At this, a hand raised.

"Yes, Miss Quinn."

Helen Quinn stood up in front of her chair. "Building off of what he just said, I want t-."

"I have a name."

"What Mister Dover just said," Helen said with a sharp nod. "I have to say that the largest spike in revenue was during the Games, as usual."

"The problem is that it was also the source of the most spending. It was the most expensive Games ever, and we can't afford to delegate any more funds to it."

"We can. In fact, these Games will make more money than ever."

"And throw Panem under the bus in bankruptcy."

President Kirkland knocked on the table, silencing the two.

He cleared his throat. "While I appreciate the concern, Lanarsus had already allocated the funds to the new space program. Since our only operations currently is the preservation of last year's arena, we need to move forward unless we want to waste that money."

Mister Dover scoffed. "Then reverse the funds. Cancel the space program."

"I won't cancel the program after one year. It has shown to be profitable."

"Then let's see how profitable it will be after this year."

"So what will these Games entail?"

All eyes went back to Helen, who was looking down at the file in her hands.

"Interstellar travel." answered Helen in a serious tone.

"So like other dimensions and univershits?"

"Language please, Dover. Please explain, Miss Quinn."

"I believe that extra funding to the space program, with the stipulation of the Games, will guarantee a profitable return on the investment. If we can expand the Games to untapped limits, we will be able to bring even more employment opportunities and interest in space travel. We can expand Panem's wallet, literally, to the stars."

"Beautiful words, Miss Quinn. How are we going to accomplish these Games?"

Helen stopped and looked around at the table. Most of the men were quite old with the exception of the President. The small puff of smoke from Dover's ashtray fumed around the sunbeams poking through the cerulean sky.

"We don't know yet. This is something that has never been attempted before."

Dover slammed his hands on the table. "Exactly! How are we going to entrust these Games to a Head Gamemaker that doesn't even know if her acid trip is possible?"

President Kirkland nodded and pointed at Helen. "Miss Quinn, while your ambition is excellent, I'm worried that this will be pointless. What if it doesn't work, and they all blow up heading into a black hole or something?"

"We have a sewer as a backup plan."

"A sewer?"

"Yes. The whole arena is a sewer."

"And if they do blow up in the middle of the Games and we have no victor?"

"I will walk in front of the firing squad myself."

"We don't use firing squads anymore." Dover said.

"Quiet," President Kirkland said. He looked back at Helen, and smiled. "Miss Quinn, I'm glad you're confident in this. I must say that it is very comforting to me. Also, I see much more of an upside to this than a downside. It's quite a gamble, but I believe we can accomplish it. However, I'm not going to sign on just yet. I need a few more logistics to this. Also, we like to see how the citizens would feel about this. The ones that aren't completely opposed to the Games, of course."

The rest of the board let out an audible sigh of chagrin. Helen nodded.

"So, before the board does their pre-lunch coke bump, I'd Li... – Stop it, Dover! I know you all do it."

Dover sat back down, shutting his mouth from further debate.

"Anyway, how is our Victor?"

This was the opportunity Helen was waiting to bring up. "Actually, he is doing great. In fact, he actually wants to have a meeting with you in a couple of weeks."

President Kirkland gaped at Helen. "Really? Why is that?"

Helen looked up, trying to remember what she rehearsed. "Lately, a lot of Victors have caused trouble. He wants to be different and actually help Panem. He says that he wants to work closely with you to dispel any future issues with rebels."

President Kirkland chuckled. "Excellent! I heard he already has a bit of a following here, and I'm sure the other Districts don't outright hate him. I'll get the old Gamemaker's secretary to set something up right away."

Helen ran out of the room when the meeting ended. She had another meeting to set up at the Headquarters.

* * *

"So that's why you're going to the Capitol. To convince him to believe in us."

"You think he'll listen to me because I'm more agreeable than Katniss and that other guy?"

"Exactly. If he trusts you, he's going to be hard pressed to go against you. Especially since you're popular and he's not. Yet, at least."

"Being President is a popularity contest, isn't it? Just like being a Victor."

"Regardless, I need to keep you up with the Capitol ongoings. That way, you can embrace my lif... – I mean, their lifestyles. Think of yourself as a pawn in a chess game. But people don't know what color you are. Black or white? We need you to be both. For the Capitol and for the people back at you-know-where."

"So be like the Capitol, but not too much like them."

"Appealing to the Capitol is number one, but if you appeal to the Districts, it'll the easier for them to listen to us. In the meantime, you'll also be helping with the Rebellion."

After a few hours meandering around the house, Kim thought it was time to go over a thing or two with Aslovee.

The sun just went down and the sky is purplish blue. In the dining area, Aslovee stared at Kim. He looked at her sitting on the chair. She seemed a little tense, if not nervous. Her first day at his house had been filled with paranoia and suspense. Isabel kept making pointed remarks about how Kim thought the latter was above everybody for being a Capitol citizen. Christian tried a more subtle route by making Kim help him with making his tea and slandering all of the Capitol freaks on TV. Aslovee was forced to interact by going over the plans for the next few weeks and how he was going to cause President Kirkland to allow the Games. On top of that, he was suppose to be the new Mockingjay. At least, that's what she was told to tell him. He hated the notion of being a new something, a new anything, since he assumed that he would have to live up to something. Then again, the last person failed, so he figured he couldn't do much worse.

Stomping of feet vibrated down the stairs. Rounding the corner, Isabel and Christian walked to Aslovee as they appeared, completely disregarding Kim.

"Are you ready?" Christian said. "Let's go."

Aslovee shifted his eyes towards them. "Go where?"

"Marty's. You said we'd go out tonight." Isabel said.

"I did?"

"It's okay. You have plenty of money anyway." Christian said.

Aslovee sighed and turned to Kim. "Do you wanna go out?"

Kim hopped up from her seat quickly and stammered. Her heart rate increased. "What!? What's that suppose to mean?"

"It means that we are going out. You wanna come with us?"

Kim stood up properly and adjusted her straightened blonde hair. "Oh... definitely. Let me just get my clothes."

"And please," Isabel groaned. "Don't wear anything loud."

Kim paused while walking towards the stairs. "What do you mean?"

"Like bright or flashy. Did you bring any normal clothes?"

"Can we go now?" Aslovee asked.

* * *

They all left the house and went to Marty's. At the restaurant, the group sat down at a booth with white linen shrouding the wooden table. Candles sat on the table and left the scent of strawberries in its midst. Lamps lit most of the ritzy restaurant. It was located in the richest part of the District, which barely holds its head above the water of the Capitol middle class. Kim couldn't help but have shameful thoughts of how cheap this place is compared to the Capitol. She felt like an alien regardlessly. The people were much more accustomed to grime building into their own skins. Most of the clothes were drab and lifeless. It was almost a colorless world. Comparing this to the rainbow people shining and dancing around in the Capitol, it was a cemetery here. No glitz. No glamour.

The waiter walked up in a black polo shirt and white dress paints. "Hello. Welcome to Marty's. Can I get you all something to drink? Or are you ready to order?"

Everybody looked at Aslovee. He raised an eyebrow before turning to the waiter. "I didn't see your seafood over here. Is this like a lunch menu?"

The waiter tilted her head and looked at him. His eyes widened for a second. "Uh... Th-This is a s-steakhouse. We don't have seafood here."

"The steakhouses where I'm fr-." Kim started before covering her mouth and uttering an apology.

"No, go ahead. Tell us how great things are for you." Isabel said.

"Calm down. I'm hungry." Christian said with a sigh.

Aslovee stared hard at the waiter. "So, no seafood?"

The waiter shook his head.

"Water, then."

The waiter nodded briskly. "Yes, sir."

He walked away to prepare their water.

"What the hell? He forgot us." Isabel said.

"He must have realized who you are?" Kim said with a small smile on her face towards Aslovee. Aslovee suddenly stood up.

"Where are you going?" Christian said.

"To open up a seafood place." He said without turning back to him. He walked over to a restroom sign and disappeared behind the door.

Isabel and Christian look straight ahead at Kim. She immediately felt a sense of dread creep over her back. Without Aslovee there, they were probably going to grill her like the ribs sizzling in the kitchen.

Isabel smirked. "Sorry if this place isn't up to your standard."

Kim adjusted her hair. "No, I don't have a problem with it."

Isabel rolled her eyes. "Please. I saw the look you had when we walked over here. And when we sat down. We're beneath you, aren't we?"

"I'm sorry. It's almost an instinct to judge things for what they look like. I can't help myself."

"You can't help yourself to Aslovee either?" Christian said with a smirk.

Kim coughed. "What!?"

"Gimme a break. It's in your kind's nature to act this way. You go gaga over the Victor. Why? Because you love the Games, and no amount of screwing around is going to change that."

"But I don't like him beca... – No, I don't like him. I mean, I do like him. But not like that."

"Stop lying, Capitol girl. You blush whenever he gets in spitting distance. We've only been sitting here for ten minutes, and your face is redder than the slices of tomatoes in that guy's salad over there."

Kim stammered. "I'm s-s-s-sorry. I...I-I just can't help myself! My mind is wired to be superficial. I've been brainwashed to act this way, and I can't stop it."

"So how do you capital people handle that? You get the Victor, then what?"

"Inquiring minds want to know." Christian added.

Kim tried to regain some composure and licked her lips. "Well, we put them on a pedestal. They're like a product in a sense. Magazine covers, posters, action figures, you name it. We love them almost all of them. We especially loved..." she leaned in closer and whispered. "Katniss and Peeta. Honestly, most of us still do, but what they did was unforgivable, to us. I cried for two days after I found out who they actually were on the inside."

"On the inside!? Have you looked at yourself!?" Christian asked.

"I didn't realize how much damage we were doing. I was in a snow globe, and there wasn't a thing out here that mattered. If Barley hadn't come up to me, I'd still be that stupid fan girl."

"Congrats. Now you're an informed fan girl," Isabel said. "How did Barley get you on board anyway?"

"She promised me some time with Aslovee. Not that kind of time! But I couldn't pass up that opportunity to see a Victor in person. Let alone one like him."

"Like him?" Isabel chuckled. "You realize you're trying to put on a pedestal a guy with almost no redeeming values outside of a small sense of justice, and letting us live with him, and being kind of hot?"

"Really, Isabel?" Christian said.

"I'm just trying to be objective here."

"I guess you're right," Kim said with a sad sigh. "I can try, but I'll probably still be that ditzy Capitol girl I was at home. Old habits are hard to break. But I believe that Aslovee is a great person to rally around for the...future. And my boss, that psychologist guy, says that it's normal to feel like that since I've barely been out of there for two months. So I guess it's technically okay that I'm attracted to him."

"So you admit it?" Isabel asked.

Kim nodded. "I know there's no way I can get you to like anybody from the Capitol, let alone people like me. I want you to know that whatever you think of me, you may be right. But I don't do it to annoy or hurt anyone. I was just raised that way. If I knew it was wrong, I would have changed."

"But what's wrong here is right there. So you wouldn't have any way of knowing." Christian said.

"Don't defend her," Isabel said to her brother. "What's done is done. Whatever. The point is that you have a huge crush on him. Is it because he's a Victor, or do you actually like him?"

"I don't know," Kim said quickly. "I've only known him for two days, personally at least."

"I guess the thing about Aslovee is that you really only need a few days around him to get a feel for who he is. That's how it worked for us anyway." Christian said. "What I'm most concerned about at the moment is not your obsessiveness over our beloved midget, but the fact that you have action figures of him."

Kim couldn't help but try to shrug off a smile. "Actually, they make a set of them before the Games. All twenty four Tributes. I had them all. Although I kinda broke my Romeo Caliteo action figure. Apparently, the most valuable one from the Games is the Cyrene Polymer one. They stopped making her, so auctioneers are having a field day trying to get more. I have Aslovee and his special Victor's edition one. And...I bought three. And...it's in my room right now."

"Cool!" reacted Christian.

"Gross," said Isabel.

"That's not gross," Christian said. "A tinier version of Aslovee – Who wouldn't want that?"

"For your information, he grew two inches from being in space. He's five feet four now." Kim said.

"He's still just below eye level with you." Isabel said.

"Speaking of space, do you mind moving over again."

If a dark aura could emanate around a person, Kim was sure she would have seen it around Aslovee and his cold stare. For some reason, she didn't mind.

* * *

**Ladies and gentleman, Platrium again along with this chapter!**

**I will begin the reaping as soon as I get a filled District. However, the prologue is still important for the foundation of these Games, so expect periodic cutaways to our Victor and the Capitol.  
**

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**Now, I may seem like an individual with a streak of indulging in humor during any situations in everyday life, but I think I am a lot more serious than people think. Robin Williams has died from commuted suicide at 63. I, like almost every human being in the world, think he IS an incredible talent and hilarious actor/comedian. Comment what your favorite Robin Williams movie/moment is. An amazing life for an amazing person. If he isn't missed, I don't know who would be.**

**See you all in a few days. Mind you, school is starting up, so expect one or two updates a week** **instead of three or four. Enjoy!**


	5. Prologue Part 3: Mental Energy

Felix Schultz walked down the long hallway. He held a chocolate chip muffin in his hand. The crumbs fell on his ironed, crisp white suit. Sunglasses covering his eyes, he munched faster on the food while strolling towards the elevator.

Just then, a vibration shook his front pant pocket.

He took out his cell phone and picked it up.

"What's the word?" He asked.

"No cheeseburger. It's plan B."

Felix sighed. "But the meeting went well?"

Helen laughed. "Sure. We have Kirkland to thank for that. He's probably the first decent president since..."

"I'm listening."

"There's no end to that sentence."

"So it comes down to Aslovee. Are you sure there's nothing else you can do?"

"Nothing outside of getting on my knees and unzipping his pants."

"I heard he was a handsome fellow."

"Fuck you. I was kidding."

"So how is he doing?"

"Russell said that Kim was doing a good job. He should be ready to perform at the drop of a hat."

"Okay, but how is he doing?"

Helen paused. "Russell is having a tough time getting to him. The boy is really closed off."

"That simply won't do. I was hoping keeping the communication lines open would help him not become someone like Katniss."

"So what should we do about getting these Games approved?"

"Wait for the meeting. It's up to Aslovee now. Just remember. WWJD."

"What?

"What would Jerome do?"

"So what will these Games entail exactly?"

Felix sighed again. "I really don't want to go over all of it, but I will say this much. Do you know what dimensions are?"

"Uh...length, width, and height?"

"Correct. For the most part. You need to understand that those three elements you speak of combine for the foundation of different dimensions. Infinite combinations meshed together with other components."

"What components?"

"Time."

"Time?"

"Yes. Time. Thought. Feeling. And magnetic, etheric, and electric energy all combine together to form the main aspects of dimensions: space, energy, and motion. At the moment, we think of ourselves in three dimensions because they are as basic as they come. What makes up the first three dimensions is motion. The first dimension is physical motion. Second dimension is emotional motion, or feeling. The third is mental emotion, or thought. Space and energy have their own dimensions. When they all intertwine, it comes together to make the laws of reality the ones we know and...love today. If we can cross into those other dimensions, and possibly manipulate them, then escaping Panem will be a forgone conclusion."

"I think I have the idea. Can one of the science bunnies give me a rundown?" Helen asked.

"I suppose so. You are Head Gamemaker after all."

"In name only. I just follow your orders. If anything, you're Head Gamemaker."

"Anything else? I've become hooked on Capitol TV, so do have a good day."

"Hey, how is Katniss doing?"

Felix shrugged to himself. "Still stuck in isolation? Where else?"

"Is she coming with us to space when we leave?"

"I have to go."

Felix hung up.

* * *

A few days passed by with little incident. Kim kept coaching Aslovee on how to act around the President during the upcoming meeting and what points to bring up to him for the Rebels. Isabel kept up her Capitol immersion by watching the television. She still made pointed comments at Kim when Aslovee or Christian weren't around, usually about her ornate fashion sense or the general messed up lives that the Capitolites lived, according to what she saw on television.

Christian kept making subtle remarks trashing the Capitol. However, he didn't seem to group Kim into the mix anymore. Instead, he just bossed Kim around more. Tea making, mostly. Kim wanted to tell him off, but she was worried that a pissed off Christian would lead to a pissed of Isabel and then a pissed of Aslovee. Then, she would be fired and promptly executed. They couldn't let out what was going on in the house, and the Rebels wouldn't take chances with her.

Ultimately, Isabel was still directly making fun of her odd quirks, from the obsessive nature of the Games and fashion, to the accent she sometimes broke into when nervous. She trained herself to speak with the normal District Nine accent, but her Capitol side was still around and leeched on her like the caterpillars hugging the cut grass outside of the mansion. Christian seemed more curious to learn about the Capitol than anything. However, he still made it clear that he wasn't a fan, although he did admit that their entertainment was funny.

Aslovee was completely puzzling to her. Of course, she still couldn't fight the starstruck emotions she got when near him. Her Capitol programming in her mind conditioned her to fawn over Aslovee every second. In fact, Kim was secretly watching reruns of the Games to spot him (although she did skip over him almost getting blown by one of the Tributes). She cringed thinking about why would happen if Isabel or Christian found out.

However, she still fought hard with the turmoil raging in her head. The lustful tension between her and Aslovee was threatening to overshadow her main purpose for being there in the first place. Then again, it's not really tension if it is only felt by one person. Aslovee seemed to be completely neutral towards her. Sure, he invited her to go with him when they went out. He didn't seem to have any qualms with having her around and even hearing her speak. Sadly for Kim, she didn't know if this was staunch politeness, or a subtle attraction from him.

Aslovee didn't seem like a person to really like anybody, let alone romantically. This depressed Kim to no end.

That's why she made it a point to talk to Russell when he showed up at the end of the week.

"Now, getting back to a common theme in your life, you have been a loner for quite sometime."

Silence.

"Do you want me to say something?" Aslovee asked.

"I'm sorry. You don't have to say anything yet. I was just wondering for how long have you truly been alone?"

"I dealt with shitheads all the time out there. I wasn't alone."

"You know what I mean."

"I don't really care about being alone. It's worked out for me. I'm still alive."

"You justify your survival in the Games with your penchant for not trusting others?"

"It worked on the streets, too."

"Have you ever trusted anybody with anything?"

Aslovee stared at the rippling tea in the glass cup by Jerome. They sat in silence, Aslovee's blank, almost bored stare being the only answer.

"Uh...No." Aslovee said as if he realized how bad that sounded.

"Not even the other two that live here?"

"I guess I've let my guard down too much lately."

"You think you've actually trusted people too much recently?"

"Yes. Barley stuck me with a needle. And I don't know shit about that other girl here."

"Rest assured, Kim isn't going to stick you with anything," Russell said. Then, he leaned forward and clasped his hands together. "You're safe here. Nobody will do anything to you. All we ask for is that you open up to us so we can both reach our goal."

Aslovee frowned. "What's that mean? My goal is to live without this bullshit in this house. And you come in here and tell me I have to put people on my shoulders."

Russell nodded. "But you realize that."

"It was my choice, but don't say it's both our goals."

"Regardless, it seems that the lack of trust you have in others would reach back to your days before the Games."

"Really?"

"Sarcasm aside, yes. The only people you even bat an eye at are Isabel and Christian. What made them special?"

"They needed help and I helped them. Then they helped me."

"And nobody ever did that before?"

"No."

"So by helping you, they gained your trust."

"I didn't say that."

"I'm sorry. They became allies to an extent."

"I mean, we wouldn't go out of our way, but if someone needed a bone, they'd throw it. It works both ways."

"And after years of this 'you scratch my back, i scratch your's' mentality, you decided to bring them in."

"I knew them. That's it."

"If you knew others on the street, would you bring them in?"

"I do know others."

"But they didn't help you?"

"No."

Russell nodded and looked at the timer. It was just about to ring, so he turned it off. Standing up, he gathered his briefcase beside him and walked towards Aslovee, who was seated on the couch. "I'm glad we kept moving forward. You're doing great. No matter how you perform from here on out, we couldn't ask for a better Victor."

"I bet you say that to all the Jabberjays, or whatever the hell they're called."

Russell chuckled. "Kim said you were a bit of a comedian. I'm glad she's right."

"I was serious."

"I've left Kim with the details for your visit. Once you leave the Capitol, Kim is coming back with us for a few more weeks. You'll know in advance when she'll return. After that, she'll give you any more info you'll need about the Games."

Russell started to walk out of the room. He turned back to Aslovee one more time. He nodded at him. "Keep up the good work. You talked more now than you did before."

Russell put on his hat and walked out into the placid winter.

When Russell stepped into the chilled air, the soft white snow pedals floated down the dark and empty street while illuminated by the dim streetlights above. A soft gust of wind pushed the flakes around as they danced in the frosty winter.

Russell's eyes watered. He took a few steps. The snow crunched underneath his foot.

"Russell."

Russell turned around to see Kim running down the brick steps in a haphazardly thrown-on purple coat. Holding the railing, she slowed down on the ground to avoid the small ice patches reflecting the lights in the mansion. She walked to Russell.

"Did I forget something?" Russell asked.

"It's just...I-I..." Kim's cheeks were red, and she stammered a few times before closing her mouth.

They stood in silence, letting the soft wind and crunching snowfall cushion the space around them.

"This is about Aslovee, isn't it?"

Kim gasped. "How did you know?"

Russell chuckled. "It's obvious. And we did kind of talk about it at Headquarters."

"I'm really sorry. I just can't think straight around him. That Capitol girl is still in me. It's hard to turn away from sixteen years of the same thing only to be told its wrong. But then, what's right? Is feeling this way wrong because I'm a shallow Capitol girl, or is it wrong because it's Aslovee?"

Russell moved a little closer to Kim and brushed some snow of her blonde hair. "Relax. Sometimes people complicate things far more than they need to. The best answer could be the most obvious one in this case."

"What's that?"

"Let your feelings be known."

"But...Russell?"

"What I mean is that you may still be at heart something you don't want to be, but that doesn't mean you can't strive to be something different. That also doesn't mean that you can't ask for help. If this was the old regime with Paylor or Coin, we would have just brainwashed you and gotten it over with. We know better, though. We realize that this sort of eugenics insanity is the exact reason classist hierarchies exist to begin with. We are people to trust, even if some people are still wary around you."

"But if I tell him, he'll fire me, and I'll be killed. By you all, no less."

"Aslovee wouldn't fire you. And if he did, I'll certainly get him to acquiesce to your re-hiring. I think you're doing good, anyway. Compared to our first meeting, Aslovee was a chatterbox. I bet he'll be perfectly fine when he meets Kirkland in a few weeks. And also, I hate to sound vain, but I bet people would be incredibly intrigued in knowing Aslovee was fraternizing with a Capitol girl."

Kim gasped and pushed Russell back. He laughed. "However, I must say its a two way street. And for what it's worth, you're doing a remarkable job at not being you."

"A Capitolite?"

"Exactly. Aslovee and company will have you assimilated before I get back. In fact, your impulsive vain and materialistic nature will go away faster than the snowfall here."

Kim couldn't help but pout. "I'm not that materialistic. Who doesn't like nice things?"

"To address the elephant in the room, though, I personally have no issue with you telling Aslovee anything. That is what you're kind of here for to begin with. I know the boys back home won't approve, but in these situations, we find suppressing human emotion only makes instability worse. Why do you think you-know-who is in a mental ward?"

"What's that mean?"

"If you bottle things up, you'll explode. Who knows? Maybe you'll find out as much about Aslovee as you can about yourself. New things, that is."

"It's okay to feel this way?"

"Absolutely. Just try not to get more distracted from your job. Honestly, if it was anybody else, I would tell you to keep it in. Our humble Victor seems to have enough self-control, though. I doubt he'll act out purely on emotion, regardless of scenario. Emotion isn't a crime. It's a test. If he doesn't like you, think of the people that do. And like I said, think of this as a phase. In a few days, you may be completely over him."

Russell waved at her. "Good luck."

Kim trudged back inside.

* * *

**Some more foundation for the SYOT. For those of you just tuning in, the Victor of the last Games is going to try to convince the President and Panem that these Games should happen. Otherwise, it'll be another trip to the forest. It also gives people a good benchmark on what my writing is like. See if you like it enough.**

**I will most likely do one more prologue chapter, then on with a reaping. I believe only one District is full since I am being much more selective over the Tributes. So please take note in the updated list.**

**What do you think will happen in these Games? And how? What about the new Mockingjay's progress? Will Helen succeed as a double agent? **

**We will figure out some day.**


	6. Prologue Part 4: A Quick Encounter

President Kirkland combed his fingers through the coarse brown fur of his old russell terrier.

That being said, being undercover for half of the day did have its advantages. Mainly, he didn't have to worry about being assassinated quite yet while he was sleeping.

On the screen, Caesar Flickerman was having a conversation with this man with a dark blue turtleneck sweater and pleated khaki pants. They were seated at a black round table. A coffee mug steamed in front of the two speakers.

"Glad you're here with us, Toby. We realize you're busy with your own show, but we need opinions from all sides of the story. All sides of the story is the name of this show, after all." Caesar said.

The audience chuckled.

Toby nodded. "Yes. Hello, audience."

"So, onto business. We just heard a week ago about Helen Quinn becoming the new Gamemaker. We also have reports of a large percentage of government spending being directed towards the space program which just came out last year. Do you think those two events correlate?

Toby scoffed. "Absolutely. I'm not a rocket scientist like half of Panem thinks they are...but I think they're going to take things to the next level. Whatever that is."

Caesar looks down at a piece of paper. "However, crowd reaction, despite having an 88% approval rate for last years Games, is quite lukewarm. In fact, a large group are outright denying this possibility of another Games above our atmosphere."

Toby nodded. "Well, Caesar, when it comes to that, the audience is more untrusting of who is in power than ever. We replaced the President and Head Gamemaker at the same time. And we never heard of either of them. Give us a reason to trust them to begin with."

The crowd cheered.

"You dislike the President?"

"Guilty until proven innocent. It's not that he's done anything bad. He just hasn't done anything good that would make me like him. Not to mention, he seems kind of wishy-washy."

"When it comes to next year's Games, do you think we will see a fall in quality?"

"If not, a ratings drop."

Kirkland stood up and walked towards the counter of his kitchen. He reaches out the the metal tray of grapes sitting in the marble countertop. Plucking some off the thorny vine, he squished some between his teeth. The sour juices evaporated in his mouth.

He turned his head towards the open notebook at the other end. The date and time for the next day was circled with stars around the shape. Kirkland knew that tomorrow was going to be instrumental into raising popularity levels and for causing these special Games to begin at all.

When word got out about his meeting with Aslovee Chesed, his approval rating would go through the roof. If he played his cards right. Then, his chances of assassination were almost negligible. At least, that's what Helen had suggested when he wondered out loud about approval ratings. He told her in private while they were going back to her hovercraft transport. Truth be told, most Presidents didn't have to worry about being liked. Sadly for Kirkland, the President position seemed to be very open as of late. He didn't think any of the corrupt Board members would hesitate to get a hitman and kill him.

Who would want to kill President Kirkland, world's greatest leader, anyway?

Kirkland looked down at his dog. "Do you like me?"

The dog didn't bat an eye.

* * *

The waiting room was a cool area with black sleek tile that reflected the recess lighting in the white ceiling. The black leather couches lined the sides of the grey walls. The room was windowless. In fact, the only opening was the steel door directly in front of the black receptionist table. A large obsidian fan shook, wafting cool air tinged with a cherry scent around the small space.

Waiting for the meeting, Aslovee hunched over the glass coffee table while biting his lip. There was a puzzle strewn on the table in front of him. From the cardbox box on the floor, it appeared to be a puzzle of Panem. Aslovee was close to finishing the outskirts of District Four. He was intrigued; he had never even seen a map of Panem before. Geography was something the Capitol liked to keep close to their chests.

When he was told he had to try and convince Kirkland to approve of the Interstellar Games, Aslovee was weary enough. However, with an opt-out option in case the heat grew too much, he felt a little more comfortable in his position. Worse case scenario, these games don't happen. If he could stop twenty-four kids from facing the perils of the unknown, then it couldn't have been too much of a loss.

Then again, worse case scenario is that Kirkland finds out about the Rebellion and kills Aslovee with the entire Rebellion. Then, Kim. Then, Isabel and Christian for existing. At the end of the day, Kirkland would probably be killed as well for his incompetence. Unfair, but that's how things went now.

Kim had her own problems. Finding out all of the specific reaping dates and arranging ways for Aslovee to be a good mentor was stressful. Aslovee couldn't raise a shred of suspicion to himself, and all of these fail-safes were irritating. There was so much effort from her and the Rebellion to make sure he, and they, were not found out.

Not only that, but Kim had another personal problem. She was unequivocally obsessed with Aslovee.

She couldn't help herself. It was in her nature to love the Games, and the people involved in them. It was a hard struggle that kept her up endlessly at night. However, she knew how important her role was, and she tried to shoulder on under those amazing black eyes that Aslovee had. She lusted over him almost every moment she thought of him. His eyes, his facial features, his soothing voice, his amazing body, and an infinite number of other reasons. Hell, she even thought he made doing that puzzle look hot.

A beeping noise came from the front desk. The young lady with glasses pressed a button and stood up. She walked to a steel door, and placed her hand on the scanner. Once that lit up in recognition, she pressed a few buttons on a keypad. Then, the door hissed while it moved aside.

The secretary turned towards Aslovee, who was mid-grip in laying a piece of District Four on the table.

"Time to go."

* * *

"How's Victor life gone for you?"

The office was a large enough room. Most of it seemed more like a study. All of the furniture and shelfs around the area were built from shiny mahogany. In fact, an aroma of pine circled around the room from the draft rumbling through the open window.

Aslovee sat in a brown chair in front of the gleaming desk. President Kirkland smiled at him an draised an eyebrow, waiting for his delayed answer.

"Good."

"District Nine doing good?"

"As good as before."

Kirkland sighed. "That's what I was worried about."

Kirkland took the folder and threw it on the desk. He opened it up and slid some papers over to Aslovee.

"I want you to look at that."

He looked at it. It was the exact same folder about the Games that Kim gave him earlier. Minus the Rebellion aspects, of course.

"It's the Games for next year." Kirkland said.

Aslovee looked up at nodded. "The Tributes are going into...where?"

"We don't know yet. I've been trying to learn more about interstellar travel, but it just goes in one ear and out the other."

"Listen, I know it may sound crazy, but I think you should seriously consid-."

"What I need to know is if you endorse this."

Aslovee paused. "Even if I didn't, couldn't you just force me to?"

Kirkland looked at the closed door behind Aslovee.

"You know, I'm not a huge expert on these sort of things. Honestly, most presidents aren't. They just pick what sounds cool and that's it."

"I think that we shou-."

"However, you probably know by now that this is a very important for all of us. We've had a rebellion and three Presidents in the past two years. I'm twenty eight years old. Do you know how much people want to see me mess up?"

"Yeah. But I actually want the-."

"Exactly. If I step on an ant, they'll execute me for murder. Not to mention, the chances of another rebellion happening are extremely high right now. And nobody wants a repeat of what happened, correct?"

Aslovee nodded.

"That's why I have to get this right. If I can't convince the Board and the Treasury to fund these Games, I can't have them. If I can't have these Games, then people will hate me more than before. **It would almost be like there weren't enough tributes for the Games to happen. Could you imagine if there were no Tributes and no Games?**"

"We have to keep people happy."

"And the thing that's making people happiest right now is you. Because you're the Victor."

"Are you saying we team up?"

"I need people to approve of me to approve of these Games. Far too much money has already been spent on them to back out now. If we make it seem like their choice, and I go along with them, they'll like me more and I won't have to worry about being ousted. How do we do that? You."

"I want these Games to happen, too."

Kirkland laughed. "You do?"

"I think it's important for the future of Panem to stretch technology as far as it can go."

"Do you know how rare it is for anyone here to be on the same level? Let alone the President and Victor? I actually thought I was going to have to convince you further."

"I'm as surprised as you are."

"You are a very powerful person at the moment. If people see that we're on the same side, we can accomplish anything."

"So I guess I'll just go out and tell everyone how great you are?"

"I don't even think we need to do that much. You have an interview on TV tomorrow, right?"

Aslovee nodded.

"Just tell them how you feel about me. Assuming its good. Right? Do you like me?"

"Like a bee likes honey."

"You're the smartest Victor I've ever heard of."

* * *

"So President Kirkland actually wanted to do the Games?"

After a night out at a seafood restaurant, Kim and Aslovee walked down the narrow side street. The buildings loomed over them while they trudged through the cold air on the quiet Capitol night. Kim was able to get permission to sleep at her old home which was much less expensive and attention-grabbing than Aslovee staying at one of the country clubs or resorts.

"It was a lot easier than I thought. You all made it out like I had to force him to go with it."

"It's for the best, though. It would have looked a little odd for you to get him to do a specific Games anyway."

"So tomorrow, what do I do?"

"Just be your normal, attractive self to others. Talk about how great things are between you and Kirkland. And pretend to live the Games. That's one that a lot of people forget about."

Aslovee nodded. "Once people like him, he'll have enough self-esteem to do these Games. Basically, I wouldn't have had to do this if he wasn't so insecure and shit. But I think Helen won't have a problem. He did kind of say that there was no backing out of it anyway, so at least somebody can sleep better at night."

A few seconds pass. They stay silent and continue to walk down the lazy side street.

Aslovee grabbed Kim's arm. She hopped up in the air slightly. She turns towards him, hoping the blush on her face is masked by the dim light around them.

Aslovee released her arm. "Did you just call me attractive?"

Kim laughed faintly. "What? No. I just meant in general to act attractive to others."

"But you worded it weird."

"Can we hurry up? It's getting cold out here."

"You said your old house was a block away."

"It is."

"Two blocks ago."

They kept walking. Aslovee puts his hands in his pockets.

A few more feet, and Aslovee grows suspicious.

He looked back. A boy is behind them, walking at a distance.

"I think they're following us." Aslovee said.

Just as Kim was about to turn and see for herself, Aslovee takes her closer to him. They keep their heads down and start to walk a little faster.

However, as they cross the opening of an alleyway, another kid pops out and stops the two in their tracks. They back up in surprise onto the wall. The other guy catches up, and he nods towards them.

"Good job. I thought they were going to start running."

"That's what normally happens."

Aslovee's hands turned into fists and he looked up at the two kids. Their clothes were simple, yet still quite clean. They're hair was short and slightly messy. Even the impoverished were still decent-looking in the streets.

Aslovee looked at them with a fuming expression gleaming in his black eyes. "What the fuck do you want?"

The taller one chuckled. "Well, me and this idiot over here are in need of some...chemicals that's will help us feel better about ourselves. And to do that, we require financial assistance if s-."

"Oh! So it's money. Fucking money. That's what you want?" Aslovee shouted. He reached into his pocket. Before the boys could reach for their pockets, Aslovee pulled out a black wallet. "Here," he said. He flung a bundle of bills at the two. The paper danced in front of them while it rained down to the ground.

The two snatched at them while they fell. The black rubber handles of knives were still tucked in their pockets.

"Look at me."

The two boys looked at Aslovee who glared at them. He took a step forward.

Suddenly, one of the boy's eyes widened. He adjusted the eyeholes in his mask, and he yelped while taking a step back. "Fuck. That's Aslovee."

The other boy looked over at him. "No fucking way," he said. Then, he took off his mask. Once he saw the Victor in front of him, he jumped back as well.

"S-shit. We just mugged the fucking victor."

"No you didn't. I gave you some money. Don't act like I don't know how this works. Although I never tried to fucking mug somebody. You don't mug people, shitheads. If you want money, just pickpocket like smart people."

One of the boys looked at him inquisitively, the shock of his identity fading. "How do you mean?"

Aslovee sighed. "Go to a crowded place and walk up to somebody. Touch them on one side of the body, then take what's on the other side. Do you really not know this?"

"Sorry we didn't get 'how to be homeless' lessons."

Aslovee looked back to Kim. She had actually seemed more placid throughout the situation. She did not scream or even seem particularly frightened. She stayed behind the slightly shorter Aslovee, who kept eye contact with the two goons. When he turned back around, the pair looked down at the money in their hands.

"Also," Aslovee continued. "break into more places. Small bakeries and bookstores are great."

"Bookstores?"

"They're always warm and have break rooms with food. Bakeries are obvious, but they also have money. Which you should use as soon as you can. That shit isn't replaceable."

The taller one nodded at him. He tapped his accomplice on the shoulder. "Let's go."

He smiled and turned back to Aslovee. "Shit, man. If we knew who you were-."

"I can still get a fucking Peacekeeper on you if you don't leave."

Before he finished, Aslovee felt the wind of the escaping street rats rush through his short black hair.

* * *

Once they got settled in, Aslovee ran straight to an empty room.

Kim stood perplexed for a second before giving chase. As she traversed the large condominium, she noticed that not a single picture or lamp was out of place. It was the same modern, art-deco home that she had grown and loved.

Across the hall from the bathroom, a door was open. Assuming that was where he was, she walked inside.

Aslovee was practically ripping off his clothes.

Every ounce of Kim's being wanted him to continue, but she had a small moral fiber that brought her back to reality. "What are you doing?"

Aslovee slipped off his jacket and tie. As he was unbuttoning his white undershirt, he looked up at Kim. "Shower."

Kim stammered. "Oh! R-right. I...I just wanted to say s-something before you went in.

Aslovee took of the undershirt and flung it on the purple queen bed behind him. "I'm listening."

Kim's mind almost exploded at the stripping Aslovee. He had to be doing this on purpose, right? Or maybe he was just that desperate to get the day over with. Nevertheless, she was transfixed on every inch of his chest. Victor life had been good to him. While he had been muscular before, his body had filled out even better than before. His shoulders were broad enough to showcase his incredible frame. Screw it if he was considered short. Kim thought he was perfect.

Aslovee stopped and looked at her. His face showing a bored expression while she gawked at him. He raised an eyebrow.

"I'm sorry. I-I just want to thank you. You kind of saved my life. In more ways than one, I guess. So...uh...bathroom is across the hall. And welcome."

Kim started to back away quickly. She walked through the doorframe and started to close the red door.

"Thanks again." She said.

She must have been clearly flustered. Her face was twenty shades of crimson, and her normally regal and flowing blonde hair was frazzled and tossed from the wind.

Whether it was from her insane appearance, her odd responses, laughing at her, or a genuine appreciation for doing her job to an extent, she wasn't sure what caused the event she just saw.

Because she was pretty sure that, right before she closed the door all the way, Aslovee smiled.

She felt a small piece of her die on the inside.

* * *

**A little more Prologue for everybody. **

**By the way, did you catch Kirkland's drift?**

**I NEED MORE SUBMISSION.**

**Please send in more tributes and get others to send them in as well. Also, have you checked out Alfonso Ling's work yet? It's great. Do it for the points!**

**And please review. It is imperative for these Games to go off well. And it is for sponsor points as well. **


	7. District 4 Reapings

**Kerri "Ice" Wakai**

Kerri Wakai had her arms crossed in front of the giant cork board. A small frown rested on her heart-shaped face. With the group of teenagers mobbing the area, she couldn't peek over at the results posted.

It was hard enough to stand in the sweat permeated hot air inside the large training center. Put that together with the loud crowd, and Kerri was getting a major headache.

Soon, disappointed sighs and annoyed groans sprinkled through the large hallway. Kerri walked up to the board. With her finger, she scrolled down the listings until she found her name.

Tracing it towards the other side, Kerri kept her stoic face as she saw the single digit next to her name.

"Holy shit. You're first."

Kerri turned towards a girl standing a hair taller than herself. The white girl raised an eyebrow at Kerri. Kimberly was Kerri's friend from the Training Center.

"I guess so." Kerri said.

"Don't act like you don't care. I know you're screaming with joy on the inside."

Kerri sighed. "I am. I really am. But I need to focus."

"On the Games?"

"Yes."

Kerri walked away. Strutting down the hallway, she passed the slogging students and exhausted trainees watching their rapidly fading reflections in the many trophy cases greeting them. She pushed the black double doors and exited the building. The sun glowered down on her as dusk started to settle through the sea-soaked air. She shielded her eyes before embarking onto the cracked sidewalk. The wind brushed her short brown hair over her face. The brisk summer day bore the waning rays of light in the cerulean sky. With the speed of her incessant sparing sessions, she found herself lost in her mind, eventually stopping at the edge of a wooden pier.

She leaned on the railing in front of her and looked out at the endless, translucent expanse.

Footsteps clapped behind her as Kimberly caught up with her.

"Be happy for once. You're work payed off."

"Not yet," Kerri said. "It's more than just me."

"What is? Why are you saying that?"

Kerri stopped and leaned on the metal railing at the edge of the pier. She looked out at the green sea, rolling over the foaming waves and reflecting shimmering sunbeams.

"You know why this year is going to be tough, right?"

"Because you could die?"

"Besides that. Remember last year?"

Kimberly looked out at the ocean with Kerri. "That misogynist incest guy? Yeah."

"And remember how I told you about my family?"

"Yeah. You're family is weird. What of it?"

"Not weird. We come from a different place. And my family has something important. And it's something that's been lost over the past few years."

"Loyalty?"

"And honor. You really think I would have stood 5 minutes with that guy. I would have gotten rid of him the moment he started to kill the others."

"So you're worried about bringing honor to the District."

"I guess I'm what you call patriotic. Maybe it's stupid, but it gives me a goal."

"It's going to be lonely without you, Ice."

Kerri sighed. "You'll be fine. This could be a chance for you to learn to like solitude."

"I don't need spiritual wacko advice, thank you."

"It's called Shinto and Buddhism, and stop talking about it in public. Its illegal."

Kerri's house was a little more inland than she would have liked. She got most of the sea breeze, but the scenery of other rooftops and fruit stands were not as poignant as she envisioned. TO be fair, she was not a rainbow-and-sunshine girl, preferring the dark war novels to any pick-me-up romantic comedy. Her house almost mirrored that aspect. It was large, yet slightly dark in appearance. The grey house with dark red shutters by the large windows sat in the middle of a row of other homes.

Kerri walked inside. Eight great-grandparents and four grandparents packed the building along with her two parents and sister. She started to cook food for the house.

Soon, her father sat by the white coffee table. He greeted Kerri.

"Where'd you place?" Said Papa Cho.

"First." Kerri said quietly.

"That's my baby. Ready for the big day?"

"Yes, father."

Soon, her mother walked into the room. She skidded the chair over the linoleum floor. The screeching made Kerri grit her teeth. "Is the fish ready?" Her mom asked.

"Actually, I burned it." Kerri said.

The parents looked at each other before turning towards Kerri. "Again?" Papa Cho said.

"I've only done fish twice."

"Guess we'll just have rice then," her mom said.

She nodded. "Yes."

Kerri stared out the window.

**Triton St. Pierre**

Triton St. Pierre was less energetic than usual. It made little sense as to the reason for this small slump in his emotions. He had just been picked to go into the Games, the sun was shining, and Azalea Thomas was skipping rocks in front if the ocean. Looking at the girl with the dark-brown ponytail, his small smile wavered like the lapping warm waters on the rocky edge of the bay. It was the trials and tribulations of living in a world where the highest honor was entering the Hunger Games.

For Triton, his priorities may have recently changed.

"Zane got a haircut." Triton said.

Azalea rolled her eyes. She held a small, saucer of a rock and chucked it into the water. It skittered across the punctured water twice before sailing downward into the depths. "I saw him. He got like one strand cut."

"He's trying." Triton said. He picked up a rock from the ground and flicked it to the water. This rock simply sank to the floor without any skips.

"No he's not."

Quiet air encapsulated them in this small pocket of serenity. Triton was gathering his words, attempting to convey his feelings about leaving the next day. He felt like he was chocking on vomit, but he certainly would not let his headstrong girlfriend realize this.

"Are you gonna get a haircut?"

Trying looked towards Azalea. She adjusted her ponytail and shuffled closer to Triton. "Why?" He asked.

Azalea dropped the rock in her hand. "So it won't get in the way when you go."

Triton grimaced. "Can we not talk about it? Please?"

"It's happening tomorrow, Triton. You're going to have to admit they picked you at some point."

"I'll deny it then."

"Deny it?"

"Yes. I'll act like the Games don't exist. That way, when I end up in them, I'll just sit in a corner and let everyone else handle the business. So then I can win and get back to you."

"Just to me? Not your family?"

"Well, since your already there, I guess my family wouldn't hurt."

Azalea giggled and placed her hand on Triton's shoulder. "We still haven't baked your mom's birthday cake."

Triton slid a strand of Azalea's hair away from her face. "You know I wreck anything involving a stove."

"That's why I'll supervise."

Triton sighed. "I don't want to sound sappy, but I wa-."

"But you will. Because that's how it is," Azalea interrupted.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Fish fly, birds swim, and you're sappy."

"Not that sappy."

"You give every homeless guy you see money."

"That's not sappy."

"If that's not sappy, then what is."

Triton chuckled. "I wanted to say that I wish I could stay like this."

"Forever?"

Triton smiled.

"Sap." Azalea said while playfully knocking on Triton's head.

Triton leaned in and they kissed. At first, it was soft, almost teasing on Azalea's part. Triton would have none of that. He snaked his arms around her and pulled her in closer. Soon, they locked into a harsh battle with their lips.

* * *

Triton fist bumped Zane when they met in the street. Zane was a taller young man with soil-brown hair and matching eyes. Out on the sun-stroked street, it seemed to glow. Whether that was from natural sheen or grease, Triton could not tell.

"Hey man. Where's Azalea?" Zane said quietly.

"She's with the others. She said its good luck that we don't see each other until the goodbyes."

Zane nodded. "Good. May I ask where your shirt is, too?"

Triton looked down at his bare chest. The only other clothes he had on were his ironed skinny jeans. "I don't have one."

"You're poor, now."

"I mean, it'd make a good impression if I went shirtless." Triton said with a small smile.

"I guess. Azalea might get the wrong idea, though."

"I doubt it. She's smart. Which is why I'm going and she's not."

"That and a fourteen year old girl did better than her."

Triton laughed and they made it to the town square.

At the square, the normal portrait of chattering teenagers swirled around in the sections in front of the stage. Just then, a woman in a tight pink jumpsuit and white flat shoes shuffled towards the microphone at the center of the stage.

"Welcome ladies and gentleman, to this years reaping of the Seventy Seventh Hunger Games," she said in a husky voice. "This year, I have a feeling our Victor's are going to come right from this crop. It's going to be exciting, thrilling, and invigorating to all involved. So on with the show."

The video played. It was stupid.

"Ladies first, as always."

"Our first Tribute is Miss T-Sizzle."

"I volunteer."

From the fourteen-year-old section, a stoic-faced, tanned Asian female walked with the ease of running water through the sea of people. Her pixie cut black hair sashayed with the quick movements of her walking. She reached the black stage, and she started to walk up the hardwood steps. She crossed the stage and made it to _.

"And what is your name?"

She looked out to the crowd. "My name is Kerri Wakai, but I go by Ice."

A few people in the crowd cheered in approval.

The lady nodded. "Excellent. Now, for one more tribute."

The lady walks towards the other bowl. She reaches down towards the bowl. Inside, she rustles a few pieces of paper. Her long fingers grab a slip and yanked it out. She cleared her throat.

"Our next tribute is Felix Kjellberg."

"I volunteer."

Triton snakes his way through the crowd. His heart beat faster like the thumping of his feet on the hot concrete. He poked his head over the crowd, searching for a glimpse of Azalea. Soon, he have up and trotted the remaining way to the stage. Walking up the steps, he heard a few excited squeals and catcalls coming from the female section.

Triton smiled and waved to the female section. A few swoons of the females later, Triton made it to the microphone.

"And what is your name?" The lady asked.

Triton winked at the camera. "My name is Trtion St. Pierre."

"And words for anybody, Triton?"

"I think my appearance speaks for itself." He gestures towards his body.

A few more squeals. Azalea couldn't help but roll her eyes and laugh.

* * *

"You okay?"

Kerri looked up at her father Cho. He had a small smile, and his eyes were wide as they adjusted to the dark sitting room off the velvet carpet of the hallway.

"I'm fine." She said.

"You're allowed to show emotion, Kerri." Mom said.

"I can live without for now."

Just then, her sister walked in.

"Kate, say goodbye to Kerri."

Kerri's younger carbon copy walked up to Kerri with narrow eyes. Her breathing was slightly heavy, and her shoulders were hunched in tension. The siblings stared at each other. A wispy silence echoed between them like the dispersing crowd outside.

"Good luck." She said to Kerri.

"Can you try to be sincere?" Kerri asked.

"No."

"I may not have much time left." Kerri's said, almost teasing her sister.

"Don't say things like that," her mom said. "It's not positive."

"I'll be more positive when I leave."

Dad cleared his throat. "I guess we'll see you on the big screen."

Kerri bowed down. "I will do my best, father."

"Why don't you give hugs like normal teenage girls?" Dad asked.

"I'll give you one when I get back."

"I'm holding you to that."

Triton leaned on the cool window pane. Looking out at the town center, he traced his finger on the frosty glass. Despite his lviely facade, he was mych more melancholy on the inside.

"Triton."

He felt his gut tighten the moment Azalea's voice floated into his ear. He turned to see his amazing girlfriend. She had a boyish smile on her face, and the two walked up to each other. Triton felt more uneasy with every passing second. The string in his veins tightened and made his limbs rigid. He already felt a dearth in his chest, aware that this vision of Azalea could be one of the last ones he has for a while.

The kiss was soft at first. Triton tried to be gentle and relaxed. However, Azalea notched the passion up, and soon, they were in a lip-locked war. Azalea let Triton sit down, and she climbed onto his lap.

After almost suffocating from the lack of air, the two separate. Triton stared at Azalea dumbfounded. Azalea grinned.

"Just a reminder for what you'll be missing."

Triton stroked Azalea's cheek and sighed. "This sucks."

Azalea adjusted herself in his lap. "Don't think of it like that. Just think. We've seen each other every day since we saw each other at my dad's store when we were ten. Now, you can go a few weeks without seeing me. And hen you get back, I might arrange for a little welcome back present that night. You said you wanted passion, right?"

Triton reached into his pocket and fingered a small gold band. It felt warm in between his fingers. He tumbled it over and over. With a few passing seconds and revolutions of the ring, he shook his head to himself. It wasn't time for that yet.

"I think I'll have a surprise for you, also."

"It better not be what I think it will be."

"And what if it is?"

Azalea got up and pushed Triton back. "Sap."

Triton took his hand out of his pocket. He couldn't think about the future right now. For the next few weeks, he would make it his duty to only look at the present, and spend his waking seconds reveling in them.

* * *

**I must apologize for my lack of frequency in updates. However, with the hope for more submissions to this SYOT and less work in my school life, I plan on having reapings out sooner. So please submit more Tributes! The Tribute list should be updated, but if you have any questions, let me know! **

**Review as always! They are great for me and for you.**

**Thank you. See you soon.**


	8. District 2 Reapings

**Ayden Everett**

The girl with long, wavy oak hair popped the crystal can of liquor open.

It was no secret that Ayden Everett was a fan of partying. After all, she had every right to. The blue-green eyed girl gleamed in the limelight of the revelers egging her drinking onward to drunken bliss. She had finished first in the training exam. She was going to savor every drop of the drink dribbling down her warm throat.

When she finished, she flung the can to the floor. The group around her cheered. Outside in the warm air, the large house exploded in light like the fountain of beer and alcohol raining around them.

"Keep it coming. I'm hard to break," Ayden shouted.

A man with red hair and green eyes approached Ayden. With a tap on the shoulder, she turned to her brother.

"What is it?"

He cleared his throat. "You've had five drinks. You'll feel like shit tomorrow if you keep it up."

Ayden put her finger on his lips to silence him. "Excuse me, but I can handle myself."

Taking her by the wrist, he pulled her away from the group like a rag doll in tow. She tried to struggle, but he was too strong to escape from the grip. As she groaned in stress, the scrunching of her sneakers followed like a ghost through the moonlit streets. Dim streetlamps spied on the midnight dew glistening in the yellow light.

Just as the pair passed a brick wall, Ayden decided it was best to take a break. She leaned towards her side and landed on the brick wall. Her brother stopped and released her wrist.

"What's your problem?" He asked.

"I just wanted to rest, Ares. Stop being so uptight."

Ares walked towards her. He stopped a few inches in front of her. Warm breathe lathered in the tangy, burning alcohol sensation permeated from Ayden. She smiled.

"You can't have a hangover for tomorrow."

Ayden rolled her eyes. "I'm not gonna have a hangover. Don't be stupid. What're you worried about for, anyway? I'm the one running in to win."

Ares stammered. "I'm worried about you getting your head chopped off the moment you waltz in."

"That's not gonna happen, Ares. I'm fast. I'm strong. Stop being a buzzkill. Let me have fun."

"Can you try to take this seriously?"

"Of course I can. I only drank light shit."

Aren sighed. Looking at his sister, he took a step back. However, he grabbed her wrist again. "You know why I paid off those trainers a few years ago? It wasn't to save myself."

"It was for me. I know. Can you let that go. It's not like you saved a mountain of people from the Nut a few years ago."

"Well, I saved you."

"That's because I was training. Can we go home? I need to sleep."

Aren rubbed his face. "Now you want to go home. Alright, how about this. For the next month, you have to be a veritable angel. No drinking, partying, cursing, nothing."

"What's in it for me?"

"You won't die."

Ayden laughed. "Sorry, brother, but you can't bribe me with something I'll get anyway."

Aren felt his stomach muscles tense up. He wanted to vomit from her overconfidence any second. And he wasn't even the one that was drinking.

**Augustine "Gus" Vestus**

The blue vest matched well with the white undershirt and brown tight pants. The bed was already made. His hands carefully molded the sheets to a crisp flat terrain. Not a single spec of dust existed in the sunbeam shooting through the window next to the neat wooden desk. The walls reflected the rest of the bare-bone sensibility that the room possessed. They were a stark white. The only thing pinned on them was the hovering figure of the Panem flag, always proud and pompous.

Gus would not stand to leave the house without his room being kept in the right condition. Even if he wanted to, his father would most likely drag him off the train and force him back.

Gus looked in the large mirror by his desk. The short boy with thick, curled black hair rubbed away any grime that may have been lurking in the crevices of his eyelids. The dull freckles on his face were the only visible blemishes on his body. The rest were etched into his back, fading into his tan skin, but noticeable regardless.

He walked down the wooden stairs of the large house. Running his hand over the smooth, lavender finished wood, Gus skittered down the remaining steps and took one last look at the picture on the base of the steps.

"Augustine?"

His father looked the exact same from the picture as he did standing five feet in front of him. Gus reinforced his already needle-straight posture.

"Sir! I apologize for my tardin-."

"Relax, Augustine. You're fine. Although the cuff on your left wrist is wrinkled."

Gus felt a shiver stab his spine when he looked down and saw the blemish on the navy blue arm.

"Don't have an aneurism of it," his father said. "We need you calm for the Reaping."

Gus looked back up and regained his composure. He raised an arm and placed his hand in a pointed fashion by his forehead. "Yes, sir. May I leave?"

"Certainly. We will meet you in the Town Hall room after the Reapings."

Gus spun on his feet and marched towards the white door. His black combat boots tapped on the hardwood floor with every flourish of his ankle. He did not spare a glance back towards his father, afraid of seeing another disapproving look before his trip began.

A number of teenagers were already filing towards the center for the Reapings. Being on the other side of the Nut, only the more prestigious members of the District moseyed on with their lives in the shadow of the wildlife beyond the fences. Gus broke into a soft jog as his boots pounded onto the brick walkway towards the front door, and then it beat on the cement sidewalk heading towards the Reaping area. For Gus, it was always a march or a jog. Preferably a run. There was no moseying for him and his family.

A hand on his shoulder made him whip around.

"A little high strung?" The younger girl asked.

Gus cleared his throat. "I'm fine, Ebony. I just want to be in front."

Ebony started to walk past him. "They already picked you. There is nobody to fight against."

Gus caught back up with her as they continued down the lazy road invaded by large white houses and security vehicles that Gus always rode in with his father. "So why are you coming now?"

"Same as you. I want to be in front. I could get picked next year."

"It's a real shame you are not a year older."

"It's a real shame I didn't do a little better. Imagine it. A Silver and a Vestus in the Games together. The Peacekeepers here would have a field day. Whether it would be a good or bad one, I don't know."

"Hopefully a good one. Otherwise, my father would just fire them or worse."

Ebony chuckled. "Well, it's not like my dad is any better. I think he has two more executions than yours."

Gus looked over at her. "You mean that he ordered them, or actually did them? Because, I think my dad wins in the 'ordered' department."

"I guess that would explain why you don't like to get your hands dirty."

"I don't want to play around with them. I'd just do the job. That's that."

The rest of the trip was uneventful. Soon, they were met by a small string of teenagers. Then, a small pack. Soon, a mob all gathered at the check in stations for the Reapings. With a curt nod, Gus departed from Ebony's side and walked towards the fifteen-year-old male section.

A fingerprick and an overt welcome from a man with a baldhead and puffy cheeks, the video showed up once again.

Gus felt his hazel brown eyes quiver slightly at the sight of the propaganda. Sure, there were a few embellishments, but the story of how the Capitol came together and pacified twelve other Districts was mesmerizing. There was no greater comfort in the world for him than knowing that the Capitol was there for him to work with as a future Peacekeeper. It infuriated him when the news of the Rebellion broke out. In fact, it was the first real moment Gus felt that he was protecting his own District and country when his father gave him the sniper rifle and told him to shoot anything coming close to their house or area.

Katniss Everdeen was an obstructing poll away from being blasted off the Earth, and the thought of performing that duty made Gus happy.

It was something his father had instilled in him from the moment he was born and the moment his father became Head Peacekeeper. It was his home, or it was the grave.

Soon, the man dipped his hand into the bowl. It was ladies first, as always.

Now for his District partner. She did not seem serious about this at all. In fact, she seemed a little disoriented. Ayden Everett was her name.

"Hey, there. Hope you're all ready for me. This year, the Victors are coming to District Two." She shouted.

Certainly not an understated person. Gus sighed.

Needless to say, he found his name called up as expected a few seconds later.

Ducking past the gate separating the stage, Gus rounded a corner and strode up the steps. Once he reached the summit, he marched forward over the stage towards the center. The enigmatic female bounced on her toes, while the other man smiled and thrusted the microphone in his direction.

"Any words, Augustine?"

Gus took the microphone and looked out at the crowd. The mob stretched through the entire busy square to the horizon of shops and apartment complexes.

The only faces Gus noticed where the ones obstructed behind the middle-aged man in the blue Panem military uniform.

"To my District," he said just like he practiced. "We have been faced with a challenge that must be fought. It is my honor and privilege to face this challenge head on with your support. I promise that, by this time next month, you will have a new Victor of the Hunger Games gracing your presence with the honor and pride of our amazing country behind us. Panem today, Panem tomorrow, Panem Forever."

The crowd clapped with a few whistles and cheers escaping their mouths.

All that mattered to Gus was the small nod of approval from his father.

**Ayden Everett**

Ayden paced over the crimson carpet in the small sitting room overlooking the town square. She was elated at the situation. With her tough persona and abilities, these Games would be a cinch for her.

She already knew that her District partner was going to be a buzzkill. However, she could work around that. If he didn't get support from anybody, than she would be just as fine without him.

The door opened. Her mother with long red hair and green eyes came in. Her towering frame loomed over Ayden.

Mom smiled. "Well, I'm glad somebody in this house has decided to do something with their lives."

The haughty man behind her with thinning brown hair put his hands on Ayden's shoulder. "Absolutely. How are you feeling?"

Ayden groaned. "That Gus kid is gonna be a total pain in the ass."

Mom nodded. "Don't let it get in the way. He will fail anyway if he can't be personable."

Just then, Ares cleared his throat and walked in. He moved towards Ayden. When he came closer to her, he wrapped her into a tight hug. Ayden half-heartedly squeezed back.

"Do good, sister. But don't go crazy on your way back home."

Ayden laughed. "Whatever. I guess nobody else is coming?"

"Your friends couldn't make it," Dad said.

"Sorry. You won't get to flirt with Graham until you get back," Ares said.

Ayden sighed. "Fine. I should go then."

**Augustine "Gus" Vestus**

Gus sat as straight as an ironing board on the plush leather love seat in the corner of the white room. The drapes sheltered the inside from the dim sunlight obscured by the dark clouds outside. As far as Gus was concerned, he felt almost relieved to finally go into the Games. After years of indoctrination, his loyalty would finally pay off.

First, Ebony came in the room. Gus stood up in front of her.

"I don't have all that much to say. At least, nothing that hasn't been said before."

Gus nodded. "Understood."

"Good luck."

Gus smiled. "Thanks."

As his family walks in, Gus looks at his frowning brother. Julius was eighteen, after all. When he made it to Gus, he sneered at him.

"You realize this was my last year?" Julius asked mirthfully.

Gus sighed. "Listen, I do not want any bad feelings between us. It has nothing to do with gaining attention. It is for respect and pride. You know that."

His mother, Electra, swept aside Julius. "Calm down, dear. Nothing doing, now. Augustine, I have to say something. That other girl is quite the flake. All she does is drink and party."

"It's a disgrace she was voted in." His father added in a gruff voice.

"Make sure you stay focused. I've heard a lot about her family, and they are some weirdos."

"Unlike us," Julius added.

"Don't be such a drag, Julius. The point is that you will be returning home. Not her. So stay sharp." Mom said.

"Yes, ma'am."

"And son?"

Gus turned to his father and looked up at him. "Sir?"

"Show them what you're made of. Not weak shit, either. But what is expected of you from us."

Gus saluted to him. "I will do everybody proud."

* * *

**Thank you for joining me again. I apologize for the long layoff. However, I should be able to pick things up a little easier assuming I ave the correct number of TRIBUTES!**

**If you look at the tribute list, you will see there are still plenty of openings. Let's change that! Get everybody you know involved. It does not matter who, as long as they will be active readers.**

**The story spotlight for sponsor points will go towards: my new story! Sorry, but self-promotion is key. It is Attack on Titan: The Musical. Tell me what you think of it thus far!**

**I am still open for any o-writing positions that may be considered for this SYOT. I'm not made of time, you know!**

**As always, review well. Thank you!**


	9. District 1 Reapings

**Erik Scall**

The steel boomerang plunked onto the hard dirt, crushing the dark grass on the sun-kissed knoll. With a rolling tumble, it fell on its side and rested from the soft breeze climbing over the small green space. It was the only clear area of district one. Fitting when considered that it was directly behind the training center. The outdoor area had an open field for varying training activities during the day. As the red sun fell over the horizon and his behind the modest black buildings that was District skyline, the boomerang was shielded by the black shadow of the tree next to it.

A black boot kicked it forward. It scattered across the grass before resting on its face again.

"I knew you couldn't do it."

Stopping by the boomerang, Erik Scall swooped down and grabbed the cold instrument from the moist ground. He turned around and clutched it in one of his hands.

"No one uses steel boomerangs anyway," Erik said with a chuckle.

Xander and Reed walked up to Erik. Xander rolled his eyes. "Whatever. You couldn't use a wooden one, either."

"At least he can bench press more than a cat," Reed said.

Xander gasped. "I was sick. And I was five."

Erik was easily the tallest and most well-built of the three. He was more lean and athletic than overly muscular, but it made him lithe enough for agility and speed. With his short, cropped blonde hair and blue eyes being a social bonus, he was the quintessential candidate for the Games.

"Forget it," Erik said. "It's almost time to get back, anyway."

"Still afraid to break the rules? What are they gonna do? Kill you?" Xander asked playfully.

Reed laughed. Erik forced a chuckle. He looked out at the sunset. The lights were turning on throughout the district. The town looked like a small beehive coming alive with an angry flourish for the night.

"I bet one of you two could make it."

Reed shrugged. "Doesn't really matter. I mean, we could always counter-volunteer."

"But they would probably form a plan against us for breaking the rules."

Erik pointed at Xander. "I thought you liked breaking rules."

"I don't like breaking rules. They're just happens to be rules against things I'm doing."

Erik smiled wistfully. When he turned around, the three set themselves down the hill and stopped at the edge of the field. A few teenagers were huddled by the edge of the field.

For Erik, these were the only moments of peace he ever had. At home, his parents chided him over his training scores and his admittedly poor school grades. He turned on his side and looked at the two boys next to him. A small blush formed on his tanned face.

"So...I guess this is it for the next few weeks."

They looked at him from their sitting positions. Both of the teenagers frowned while Erik's face burned up.

Xander scoffed. "I thought we were going to say goodbye to you, but I guess not."

Erik rolled his and turned over through the grass. He sat up and crossed his legs. "That's not it at all. I'm just saying that this is it for this." Erik pointed at the setting sun in front of them.

"I guess," reed said. "But I figured we'd see you around in a bit anyway. No need to start crying."

"And you wanted this," Xander said.

Reed smacked Xander on the shoulder. "Don't say that. It'll make him feel bad. You know he's sensitive."

Erik chuckled. "It's fine," he said.

His frown returned when he stood up. He put his hands in his pocket and looked out at the field. The other two teenagers scrunched the cut grass as they stood up. Reed walked beside him as Xander brushed off the grass residue on his blue shorts.

Erik shifted his gaze towards them. They both lined up beside him.

Erik breathed in, causing the two to look at him with confusion.

"I've known you two for ten years. Wanna know something?"

"Spit it out," Xander said.

Erik's face flushed again. "Just so you know, I'm still the same me. It's just tha-."

"Come one, Erik. You act like you're going to tell us your gay."

Erik stared at his two friends. A small lightning bolt of understanding shot to their eyes. The judgement of his reaction passed in front of them like the lavender sky passing over the small knoll.

"Wait. Really?" Reed asked

With a small sniffle, Erik nodded.

* * *

**Cierro Opere**

Her pale brown eyes peered through the dusty microscope lens. With a small glance, she focused at the shining gem on the slide.

She turned in her swiveling grey chair and shut off the microscope. "It's a diamond."

Tolle cleared his throat. "Are you sure?"

"Is that a joke?"

"No. I wanted to make sure."

Cierro snagged the rough diamond from the table and handed it to him. "Fine. I'm glad to help. Bye."

As Cierro whipped around on her green shoes to leave the cold gem-cutting room, Tolle held onto her shoulder.

"Hold up. Are you alright?"

Cierro looked at Tolle and sighed. "I don't know what you mean," she blurted out quickly. "I'm doing fine. Just thinking about what to wear tomorrow."

Tolle grunted. "I'm just saying that you're usually kind of fast talking, but you seem out of it today."

"How so?"

"You put the diamond under a microscope."

Cierro sneezed and looked back up to Tolle. They were around the same height. She just noticed how alike they looked. His thick, reddish hair was a little longer than her chin length style, and his jaw was less pronounced. His left eye did not have small scar across her eyebrow. Other than that, they had the same swarthy skin tone and wiry build.

"So what?" Cierro asked.

"If you were perfectly fine, you would have known it was real even if you were on the moon."

Cierro kept a tight grip on her mouth. She did not want any regretful words to come out. "Everything is fine. Now, I need to do my run."

She wrestled off Tolle's hand and walked past the rest of the white long tables. The cool air started to transform into the warm, moist air that permeates around District One as she got towards the doorway.

"It's eight at night. You'll get mugged."

Cierro looked back at Tolle. "You really think they'd mug a future victor?"

Tolle shrugged. "I heard that actually happened."

Cierro greeted the warm air by pushing her legs forward at a rapid speed. Her jog lifted her through the busy, neon-lit wide streets that paved their way through the city. All she heard was the thumping of her feet on the cement and the quickening heartbeat that thumped in her chest. The quick intake of air following a rapid decrease from the run. Her hair bobbed in place while she raced past the fashion shops and street vendors.

When she ran, she felt no panic. When she climbed the rock walls, she felt no burning in her arms. And when she kept her body busy, her mind hushed and retreated into a locked corner of her body away from what she thought was useful. For her, thinking was not useful. She needed to act out.

When she reached her home, it was past midnight. Her parents would be asleep. Her mother would probably crack a joke or two about her tardiness. Father would say nothing as he would not want to upset mother. Tolle would just sip his tea.

Cierro needed to be dispassionate. It would help her survive in the games.

* * *

Cierro liked being somewhat tall for a number of reasons. At the moment, it caused less pain to her craned head when she peeked over the rows of heads poking the marble stage. She liked to have a few of the area. It calmed her down and made her feel safety in an unpredictable environment. Tugging at the color of her warm blue sundress, she let out a long breathe into the stuffy air.

The man on the stage made another pointless speech about the greatness of the Capitol. Not that she wanted a revolution like last year, but she had heard the same thing a thousand times.

Finally. The names have arrived.

Time for her voice to shine.

"I volunteer."

The slow walk towards the stage was a little unnerving. She tried to push her way through the large group to reach her destination faster, but the wall of bodies shielded the stage like a moat surrounding a castle. The looks she had were more surprising. Some were looking with awe at the girl. A few girls glared at her and narrowed their eyes. She had beaten a few of them out for the volunteer spot. Cierro would smirk if she could, but the eyes of Panem could not see her as readable as that.

She strut up the steps and turned to the audience.

"I am Cierro Opere. I will bring the District pride and happiness."

A small pause filled the space after her short speech. Then, a skittering of applause sounded. To Cierro, the ripple of moving hands looked like the miniature waves from a skipping stone in a pond. If only other people looked at these meaningless sights with such poetic importance. It was a shame they did not, Cierro thought.

The man reached into the men's bowl and swiftly took out a slip of paper.

"Our next volunteer is any of the MAGCON boys."

"I volunteer."

"Shit. I really wanted them dead," the old man said under his breath.

A tall, toned teenager with bright blue eyes and straight blonde hair walked up with a tight smile on his face. He greeted the old man with a handshake. When he walked past him, he looked out at the crowd.

"Thank you, everybody. I am Erik Scall, and I am happy to say that, in a few weeks, I will be back as your victor."

Cheers erupted. Cierro was already looking at the entrance to the city hall behind them, hoping to leave as soon as possible.

* * *

**Erik Scall**

Two small bodies rammed into Erik. They knocked him off his feet onto the periwinkle leather couch. The children giggled as Erik let out a small chuckle and wrapped his arms around them.

"You know, you two are too old to do that," he said as he flicked the girl on the nose. "You're fifteen in a month, Tasha."

She got off him and rubbed her nose. "Meet started it. He wanted you to be ready for the Games."

Erik's smile faltered slightly. "And you thought tackling me would help that?"

Mert nodded. "Yup. We were gonna bring weapons, too. But the lame guys outside wouldn't let us."

"Don't talk about them like that," Erik's father said as he walked inside the room. He was a little shorter than Erik and had a paunchy figure from his older age. His black suit barely for him. The tribute's mother arrived behind him with a stalk of broccoli in her hands.

Erik stood up and raked his parents into a large hug. Erik smelled the stinging cologne and rosy perfume on the parents mix in the air. It almost made his eyes water. His father patted Erik on the back, and his mother tried her best to eliminate as much space between her son and herself as possible.

When he pulled back, his mom stuffed the stalk of broccoli into his mouth.

Erik gargles in surprise. He felt the tickling stalk on his tongue. Then, he acquiesced and chomped on the bush. It dissipates into an acceptable mush, and he swallowed the vegetable.

"I'm sorry," his mother said. "But you didn't eat much today, and I know you like broccoli."

"Yeah, you're so weird," Tasha said.

Erik looked at his family. Despite his father's harshness and his mother's reluctance to have him involved in the Games, they had to be supportive of him. Surely, they would not disown him if he came back a Victor. They still loved him, right? He was still the same Erik. Just a little weirder than Tasha thought.

"Well, you'll think I'm more weird then. I have to tell you all something before you go."

Just then, Reed and Xander ran into the room. They crashed onto the sofa and landed on Erik.

"We thought you left, brother," Xander shouted as he nuzzled Erik closer.

"Yes, we didn't want you to leave without one last beat down. But, since your family is here, we will let it slide."

They pulled back and stood up with his parents and siblings as they all looked down at Erik. His face was flushed and redder than ever. The room felt much smaller from the inflated presence of people ready to make his eyes explode.

Xander cleared his throat. "You could probably guessed that me and Reed talked it over. And we decided that it was okay."

Reed crossed his arms. "It took a lot of convincing, but Xander finally got over it."

Xander scoffed. "You were the one that was getting upset about it. But anyway," Xander pointed at Erik. "You're only allowed to be that way if you come back as the Victor. Otherwise, you can keep that with you six feet under."

Erik gave them a thumbs up. "Thanks. That means a lot... I think."

"What the hell is he talking about?" His father said.

Erik looked over at his friends. It was an unsure, almost pleading look. He was trying to find the words, but no sound came from his mouth. Everyone kept stating at him, hoping any worries would be reassured with a grim and a high-five.

"Nothing," Erik said. "Just a secret between friends for now."

* * *

**Cierro Opere**

"You think you got this, Cierro?"

She sat in front of Tolle and her parents. Little had been said between them. There was a mutual understanding that Cierro would not want to talk. And she did not. Cierro couldn't bear sitting in that white, colorless room any longer. She needed to strategize and work with her District partner.

"I want to say that we love you," Tolle said. "And we are with you whether you want us or not."

Her mother nodded. "Exactly, dear. We can't live in that Victor's mansion without a Victor. And changing my name is out of the question."

"Why is that?" Her father asked.

"Do you really want to introduce your wife to people as 'Victor?'"

Cierro looked up at the clock. She noticed there was a couple of seconds left before the Peacekeepers burst in and dragged her away. She sat up straight like an ironing board in her chair and looked over the passive looks on her family.

"Uh...thank you. I'll mention you all a lot in the interviews. And...I'm sorry. You know it's hard to say what I mean."

"You could just say 'I love you.' That would be good enough for all of us." Tolle said.

Cierro furrowed her eyebrows. "It's that easy?"

Her family nodded.

Cierro breathed out a dispassionate chuckle.

* * *

**Thank you for your patience. Finals are coming to a close, so I would expect more updates to come along the way. Make sure you press that review button. You do not have a good reason not to. If you do, you may not be literate or alive. **

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	10. District 9 Reapings

**Leslaw Valince (15)**

His pale blonde hair was so light that the small strands held up by the wind melded into the background with the retreating orange sun. Suddenly, the boy's head popped up from the swaying wheat fields and scanned the rolling gold meadow. From the shadows cast by the small brown barn, Leslaw knew it was quitting time.

With a wide smile, he picked his knees up from the hard brown dirt and dusted off his jeans. Dodging the wheat stalks, he made his way to the brown dirt road. A stream of workers filtered out of the field. Leslaw noticed the different people in the fields. Black farmers, white countrymen, old veterans, and young bucks looking for a quick dollar followed the rocks on the side of the road towards the ramshackle buildings of District Nine.

Noticing the man in a thick white uniform and helmet, Leslaw strained his smile and started to walk by him. The large firearm in his hand gleamed in the fading light. For Leslaw, human interaction was always the high point of his day. A shaking giddiness ran through his blood when he could actually talk to others. Even the forced water break banter made him feel a small weight float of his back into the lavender sky.

"How's it going, officer?"

The pale man turned and looked at the boy in his eyes. Or eye. There was a reason most did not want to associate with Leslaw. His family history, and his appearance. He looked very odd for District Nine. Leslaw had only one eye open to viewing. A black eye patch covered the right eye. His other eye was an ornate copper color. The peacekeeper was taken aback at the eye color. Brown eyes had become rarer over his tenure.

"What is it?"

Leslaw huffed. "I just wanted to say hello."

The Peacekeeper rolled his eyes at the taller boy. "Get out of here. Reapings are tomorrow. Hurry, or I'll use this on you," he said while raising his semi-automatic rifle.

"Well, if you shoot me know, the I won't have to worry about the Games, will I?" Leslaw said with his glowing grin.

The Peacekeeper glowered at the slightly taller boy. "Just go," he shouted.

Leslaw waved and turned around. Seeing the empty road ahead, he briskly paced down the side of the dirt path. It was another day of solitude and harvesting in the fields with nothing but his tools and an angry Peacekeeper keeping him in line.

With nobody in sight, he mentally sighed. The smile evaporated like the remaining beams of sunlight through the small saplings next to him. His shoulders slumped further, and the peppy walk slowed to a slow trudge through the hard dirt. His journey always took him to this location. Spying the clearing between two large trees standing like guards in front of a museum, Leslaw inched closer to the small space.

He arrived at the strewn piles of charred wood and kindling flattened on the ground; his shattered livelihood shuffled at his feet. Every day, he stared at the wreckage as the moon began to lit the periwinkle sky.

As the days transformed into night, it became harder and harder for Leslaw to pretend to be happy. It was exhausting to appear happy to other people. His limbs never felt the nightly reprieve of the now melted springs from his scorched mattress. All his back muscles were accustomed to were the pebbles poking through the hot dirt in the town alleyways.

There was no family left for him. The remnants of his smile died.

He could hardly muster the strength to smile, but he had to do so. Nobody would want to cut him a break if he moped around. Sadly, he stilled remained friend and ally-less in the poor boondocks of District Nine.

All the energy he could muster by himself was to stare down at the pile of burnt wood and broken glass. Underneath the sparkling stars in the cool, summer night, Leslaw saw his lonely days fly in front of him, even with his dysfunctional family gone.

**Erytheia Perzsi-(15)**

There are very few places in District Nine that could be considered wealthy. To the residents, it was the cream of the crop when it came to structures. The elegant white mansions stood in small clusters that plagued the humble landscape surrounding them. Most stretched three stories tall and had the width of a small running track.

They had utilities and technology that few in District Nine really thought about or even had the pleasure of glancing. Plasma televisions, heated air conditioning, refrigerators, and walk-in closets swirled around in their dreams, while the owners sleepwalked through them with an air of entitlement.

"There's nothing wrong with being rich," Erytheia said as her heel clicked on the tile floor.

The small shopping center across the street from the town square was one of the few spots in District Nine that had any sort of luxurious items. The building was two-stories high and had a large glass ceiling. The lights and glimmer of the store signs hanging over the entrances welcomed the light breeze from the rumbling vents. It was a small oasis for the fortunate od the District. It was as close to the Capitol one could get without going into the Games.

Erytheia continued to strut down the walkway alongside the golden railing. Looking down, she saw the few well-dressed people in the District mulling around like hamsters in the hay-filled cage at the pet store display window. The energy permeated the air with a jcular fervor, as if another party was occurring later in the evening.

"I mean, our parents worked hard to make their money. Why is it a crime to have it?" The platinum-blonde haired girl whined.

Next to her, a shorter girl in a yellow blouse chuckled. "Because why would anybody like us?"

"They're just jealous, Darla. But they shouldn't be."

"And why is that?"

Erytheia made an overdramatic gasp. "Have you not been here the past year? Ths District has been getting better and better. And you know why?"

"If you mention his name, I'm going to cho-."

"Aslovee."

"Of course."

Erytheia groaned. "You don't get it. He won the Games. Do you think this place would have been built if it wasn't for that?" She flailed her arms around in the air. "You think that homeless shelter would exist if he didn't win? Would the streets be cleaner and smell less if it wasn't for him?"

"I guess no-."

"Exactly. He's the reason anything good has come out of this District since anything bread related. And you know, bread isn't good for you. It's starchy and bloats you up."

Darla sighed. "Why are you worrying about that. It's not like we're ugly."

Erytheia continued walking and looked over at the shorter girl. While her speech had been hasty, her thoughts were crystal clear.

District Nine had been a hell-hole since she was born. Her parents did have money (legal or not was yet to be determined), and she had plenty of goods and clothes to entertain her. However, there was nobody to hang out with or become friends with since she was such an outlier in an impoverished area. She did not think she missed out on much. Homeless people roamed around like reanimated corpses. The burning sun singed the golden fields of wheat where workers did nothing but toil and bear the stress of whips on skin.

Even with the attempted revolution, District Nine had little to offer. There were hardly any demonstrations against the Capitol. Katniss never even visited the District save for her obligatory appearance during the Victor's tour. Sure, she was comfortable. No Peacekeepers were trying to get her. Her parents money would assure her of that. But there were no boys, no friends, no fashion styles, and no real reason to exist in the District.

Then, Aslovee won.

Darla and her other "friends" (she didn't want to call them friends for fear of being to attached) called it an obsession. Erytheia knew better. The people in the Capitol obsessed over the Victor. Erytheia just had a very strong interest.

"Fine. I'm obsessed." She said.

"With what? Not eating bread?" Darla asked.

Erytheia stopped walking and faced Darla. "No. Aslovee. But can you blame me. This is the only good thing to happen here since I've been alive. And he came from right here. He's inspirational to others, Darla. He is a symbol."

Darla scoffed. "A symbol. Like you-know-who."

Erytheia grimaced. "No, not like Catgirl. I know for a fact that she just lucked into winning. But Aslovee fought. He wanted to be strong, and he cared about us. You can see it in his eyes."

"Are you crazy? I can't see anything. He was just a guy that happened to not die."

"And he is actually pretty smart. Not t mention, this place is a whole lot livelier."

Darla rolled her eyes. "You just like him because he looks good and has abs."

The brown-eyed girl gasped. "That is bullshit. I mean…that certainly isn't a drawback, but I like everything else about him, too."

"If someone told me you were actually a spy from the Capitol, I would believe them with how you act about this guy."

Erytheia slinked her head down and moved forward down the long walkway past the stores. Why could she not see just how much of a positive influence he had been? In fact, what reason did she have to not like Aslovee. He had it all from his tough persona to his low voice. He was a much better Victor than Katniss could ever dream of being. In fact, Aslovee would have made a much better Mockingjay. Then, she could actually move to the Capitol and become that news reporter.

Also, the new line of Cyrus's nail polish just came out, and it is not available in District Nine. They can't have it all yet, but she can try to enjoy the spoils of the Victor.

Which is why she couldn't wait for the next day.

* * *

Erytheia thought her lime green sundress went perfect with her light-tanned skin. With the subtle curls in her hair, she giggled while making a quick face at the mirror. Strapping on her thick silver bracelet with a blue jay encrusted in blue gems, she exited her large pink room and walked down the hall. The beige wall were covered in pictures of her mom and dad. They were starting to move up in age. His dad had whisps of grey hair skidding the edge of his sideburns. Even mom, with her skin cream, had a line or two just noticeable on her grinning face.

Walking down the purple stairs with golden rails, she stepped onto the hardwood floor and waltzed to the door.

"See you after the reaping," she shouted behind her towards the empty stairwell.

The reaping was as hot and boring as she remembered. The same small finger prick followed the corralling like sheep into the various age pens. She hoped any moisture in the air would not frazzle her hair. She needed to look perfect. However, the crowd was a little more restless than usual. It seemed that the positive energy clinged to them. Erytheia felt small shakes of excitement go through her bones as the possible Tributes chatted away in an almost festive manner.

A frumpy, smiling lady in her mid-thirties by the name of Barley Simmons cleared her throat and tapped the microphone. "Thank you ladies and gentleman. I'm glad that there is a little more interest in the Games this year."

The audience chuckled. The audience never laughed in these things.

"I know I've bored you all with the details, so why don't we see if who will make it two-in-a-row for District Nine, shall we?"

Barley looked down and shuffled her hand through the slips of paper. Finding a sharp edge, she yanked out a slip of paper.

"Our female Tribute is Miss Jenna Marbles."

"I volunteer."

Erytheia basked in the spotlight as she grinned manically. She could not believe it, but the audience was actually applauding. Whether it was genuine admiration, or appreciation for her sacrifice, she did not know. The happy faces nodded and pointed at her while she sauntered up the wooden steps to the stage.

Peeking past Barley, she saw Aslovee. He was exactly how she remembered from the television. His half-lidded, almost bored eyes looked at her while he sat as straight as an ironing board in his chair. He was wearing an all black suit, and his black hair was trimmed and straight. She wanted to tackle him right then and there, but that could wait till later. She had the Capitol to look forward to seeing.

"And what's your name?"

Erytheia waved at the crowd. "I;m Erytheia Perzsi," she said when she turned to face Aslovee. "And I'll be joining you in the Victor's Village." She winked at him. Surely, sponsors would pay attention to that.

After a few guffaws and cheers, Barley reached in and swiped another slip of paper. "Our next tribute is Mister Leslaw Valince."

The crowd quited as the tall, slightly muscled boy with an eyepatch walked up to the stage. He certainly stood out with his bright blonde hair and smile. His smile set him apart. It was wide, stretched, and a little unsettling. It was a grin that spelled either incessant glee or toppling grief at his situation. It did not appear he had any supporters. The people seemed more confused than upset, but that was how quickly attitudes changed in District Nine.

He came up and shook hands with Erytheia. For her, it was the beginning of a war of attention. If she wanted to win, she needed Aslovee on her side 100%. For Leslaw, he was used to little support. In a sense, he and Aslovee had that alike.

For the first time in history, both tributes were not on the verge of a nervous breakdown in District Nine.

* * *

Leslaw had a small thread of hope to hang on to that somebody would say goodbye to him. He was nice and friendly to all people he went to work with and met on the street. There was no reason to be an enemy with him. There was no reason to be friends with him. He was just another street kid with a dysfunctional, albeit, dead, family.

The leather white couch did little to comfort his tense back. HE was used to the had labor on his muscles, though. By all accounts, he wanted to win, but what would he come back to? There was nobody there o receive him. A few people could like him, but it would occur because he won, not because he was a human being.

With guards and cameras swooping by once in a while, his forced smile stayed plastered on his face. He thought it was funny. He would be ell-fed and prettied up just in time for slaughter in the Games. The lights of the yellow lamps and recess lighting above reflected off the marble floor. It was the only nice building in the District that he had been to.

Maybe his interesting appearance would help him with sponsors. Of course, with the most recent victor being from District Nine, he would hope that Aslovee's support would bleed over to Leslaw. They did have a trait or two that was similar, right?

A Peacekeeper tapped him on the shoulder. "It's time to go."

"To the free buffet on the train? I don't have any money."

The black Peacekeeper rolled his eyes. "It's on me, then. On the condition that you don't come back."

"Believe me. If I have to come back here and give you anything, I'd probably step off the mine at the start." Leslaw chuckled with his smile.

* * *

**Thank you very much for reading. I apologize for the lengthy layoff. However, reality calls to me at times. I will work more diligently in the future. **

**However, MORE TRIBUTES ARE NEEDED. Please consult the Tribute list for opening. Only two per person. And please refer people to this. You get sponsor points.**

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**Thank you. If it wasn't for your reviews and support, I would have no need to continue. Now, I have the precedent required to move onward!**


	11. Prologue Part 5: Ramping It Up

**Six Months Ago**

The flittering sun poked through the plush velvet curtains stiff with cigar smoke. The calm breeze fluttered past the open window frame and brushed President Kirkland's full head of blonde bed hair. The tangy scent of white roses combined with the tobacco in the warm, thick air. A number of broken vases lay on the floor, with the roses scattered in a wet mess of delicate pedals.

When Helen walked in, Kirkland was leaning on the arm of his brown leather chair behind the towers of files on the cluttered desk. He looked up at her, his eyes reddened from lack of sleep.

"You look like you just snorted a mountain of coke," Helen said.

Kirkland put the cigar on the glass ashtray. "Thank you for the support. You know, three years ago, you would have been killed over saying something like that."

Helen closed the oak door behind her and walked forward. Her high heels clicked on the dirty hardwood floor. She placed another file on Kirkland's desk.

Kirkland stared down at the manila folder. "What's that?" He asked without looking up.

"More info on the games. It's a list of the different universes. It explains it in closer detail."

Kirkland frowned. "As enticing as that sounds, I have other issues. And as you can see from the stack of papers here, most of them take place in this universe."

"I don't know that."

"You know, people respected Snow and Lanarsus."

"And they don't for you?"

Kirkland groaned. "I'm just saying that people don't do that for me. Do I have to slaughter 24 kids to do that?" He complained.

"Apparently." Helen said.

Kirkland sighed. "Whatever. What is it even for?"

* * *

"Did he buy it?"

Felix Schultz walked in his black suit down the wide, grey hallway of the military base. Army personnel and technicians in white lab coats mulled around the building, ignoring the head of the resistance traversing past them.

"I guess," Helen sighed. "He's still pretty on edge about it. And we've done pretty much all we could. He's just a bundle of nerves that's afraid of his own shadow at this point."

"What specifically did you say to him?"

"I explained to him about multiverses and a theory or two of them. Basically, I told him about the ekpyrotic theory picture.

"if the universe is the region that results when two branes collide, then the branes could actually collide in multiple locations. Did you use the bedsheet metaphor?"

"Yup. I told him to think about flapping a sheet up and down rapidly onto the surface of a bed. The sheet doesn't touch the bed only in one location, but it touches it in multiple locations. If the sheet were a brane, then each point of collision would create its own universe with its own initial conditions."

"Did you sound condenscending in any way?"

Felix heared Helen's loud huff. "Why would I sound condenscending?"

Felix shrugged to himself as he pushed through double doors and entered the busy metal stairwell. "I don't know. You just have that effect on people."

"No. I wasn't. And he's depressed now."

"Why?"

Helen groaned. "Because nobody likes him. And he's too much of a pussy to kill anyone who disagrees with him."

Felix paused in confusion. "You know, that's usually a good thing."

"The point is," Helen shouted through the phone. "We need to keep the pressure on. At this point, he has no other Games ideas. And I am Head Gamemaker. Even if I have to die, these Games are going to happen."

"And it's that 'yes we can' attitude that got you this job. Keep it up. The science bunnies are just about done with their work, so we're ready when you, er, Kirkland is."

"Fine. Bye"

* * *

"Any universe that is mathematically possible has equal possibility of actually existing universes."

Aslovee looked down at the piece of paper and slowly examined the script. He sat at the long black table, his black hair still damp from another lengthy shower. Kim stood next to him as his eyebrows furrowed.

"So, why is this important? Nobody in the Capitol is really going to give a shit about this." He said while putting the paper back down.

"But Kirkland will," Kim said. "It will make the crowd want these Games even more. People are still on the fence about it. You can help that out. And it will improve your image as well."

Aslovee looked up at Kim, a blank look on his face. "And why would I need that. I already won the Games. Do I need to end world hunger, too?"

Kim giggled. "No, you don't."

"I was being serious."

"Kirkland is nervous. He's worried about making the wrong choices, so we need to keep persuading him. If the Capitol wants these Games, then he'll feel like he's doing something right for a change."

"The idea is that these Games are going to different universes and dimensions. Or is it just one or the other?"

Kim sighed. "They haven't told me that much. They just said that the Games would start in a spaceship before the wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey stuff happened. I guess it's just a surprise for the future tributes."

"What? Did you just have a stroke?"

Kim tilted her head. "Huh?"

"You just said something about wibbly-wobbles," he said. Aslovee stood up and walked over to Kim. Looking up slightly at Kim's reddening, heart-shaped face, he frowned. "Yup. You must be sick. It's like someone set your face on fire."

Kim backed away. "Oh, it's nothing. My face normally reddens when the seasons change."

Aslovee nodded. "Fine. Then why do I have to-."

Aslovee fell silent as footsteps stomped up the stairs. Christian's messy blonde hair poked out from behind the white door frame.

"Soup's on." He said.

* * *

Aslovee looked down in disappointment at the plate. "What the hell is this?"

The golden plate was covered in leaf lettuce and a creamy, thick white substance. The smell of pine needles and cinnamon swirled around the table.

"I forgot to tell you," Kim said. "The office back home is having a 'Go Vegan' challenge. Everybody is doing it."

"We've been getting ready for Kim's weird contest for a week. I thought I told you earlier," Christian said.

"I thought I told you to fuck off earlier, but that hasn't happened." Aslovee said, making Christian chuckle. After poking at the lettuce, he took a small dab of the salad dressing and stuck it to his finger. He tasted it.

Just then, a flash of a camera emanated his left side. He turned to Kim who was holding the large black box.

"What are you doing?" He asked with a hint of annoyance in his voice.

Kim blushed. "Sorry, but they wanted me to send them proof that you are doing it."

"Who knows what else she does with that camera." Isabel said as she rolled her eyes.

As they sat down, Kim cleared her throat. "So, with the Games coming up in a bit, we need to talk about mentoring."

"Not doing it. Get someone else."

Kim sighed. "But you have to."

"But I don't want to." Aslovee shot back.

"But you have to."

"I swear, this conversation has happened a thousand times already. You need to get used to the fact that you won the Games." Isabel said loudly.

'"Exactly, bro. It's not like they weren't goingt os hip you back to the Capitol, anyway," Christian said.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Aslovee asked.

"It means that you're a brand. You know, like those canned sodas or blow-up dolls. Even if you were dead, you couldn't get peace and quiet."

"Don't you think I already know that?" Aslovee said. "You know, when I became Victor, I knew my life was ruined, but I thought I could at least eat something besides fucking grass." He pointed down at his plate. "And besides, what are you two doing that's helping out here."

"I didn't know we had to do anything. You do all the cleaning." Isabel said.

"And cooking isn't a big deal. It's not like we've had real food very much." Christian said.

Kim looked back at Aslovee. "Any of the other Victors in Nine are dead."

"And we know you hate dealing with…people. So, basically, just pretend to like whoever they are." Isabel said.

"Besides, they'll probably like you for the first few seconds. You are the best shot they've had at winning in ever." Christian nodded at him and smiled.

Aslovee knew his responsibilities before even coming back to District Nine. He knew Capitol visits were a must, and mentoring was a certainty. For as reluctant as he was to do anything that could ring him back to that hellhole of the Capitol, it would be a better place for him if he did it. And it would not hurt him to try and save someone else directly through the Games. After all, he did try that with Edan, but instead, outright killed her.

But he is not feeling guilty. Absolutely not.

"We'll talk about it later. I'm going to get some sushi or something resembling human food."

The chair scooted on the floor as Aslovee shuffled out of the room. The other three residents sat there and looked at each other.

"I feel like he has always been this picky deep down." Isabel said.

Christian nodded. Then, he turned to Kim. "You're doing good, though. You've gone a whole day without stuttering in his presence. Just remember, if you need in inside track on what makes him tick, me and Aslovee are like this," Christian intertwined his middle and index finger.

"You are?" Isabel laughed.

Kim sighed and held her head in her hands. "If that's your definition of close, then I guess no one will ever get to him," she said sadly. "Me and the people back home need him to cooperate better. He is still pushing us back a little bit."

"If you need him to open up, then keep trying."

"Or you could stop being a pussy and tell him your feelings." Isabel said.

Kim gasped. "What? No! This has nothing to do with that. I'm talking about the people at the Capitol."

"Which is worse," Isabel frowned. She leaned forward on her elbows and glared at Kim. "I know something is going on. You're not just here for helping him or hoping up and down on his dick, are you? Something else is going on. Let me tell you something. You might have dragged Aslovee into your shitty mess or whatever the fuck it is, but we didn't. We are not the Victor. We are not part of what your doing."

"He's risking everything for you. Whatever it is your doing. And by association, we kind of are to. We live in this house, so what happens here matters." Christian said.

Kim nodded and bounced her leg, making the table vibrate softly. "It's a lot bigger than you think. You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

Isabel scoffed. "Trust us. We think it's pretty big."

The table froze in silence.

* * *

**Just a bit of a reprieve, and some more build up for the underlying narrative. Yes, this SYOT has one of those.**

**By the way, does anybody else laugh at the sight of Aslovee looking dejected at a piece of lettuce. Does anybody do fanart that could get started on that one? I think it would look hilarious. Then again, a lot of scenes in this SYOT could be used for fanart that would look hilarious. Maybe I could use that as an excuse for more sponsor points. Fanart!**

**I need more Tributes, however. Please, get different creators to submit one or two. Let's get this SYOT known!**

**Thank you. I will see you again in the near future.**


	12. District 10 Reapings

**Bruce Willysium (17)**

"You're such a pussy, Tony."

Bruce pulled in another breathe of the relaxing marijuana and puffed out the pungent smoke. He smirked at the skinny, pale boy sitting across from him.

"Why? I got this for you."

Bruce rolled his eyes. "Yeah, but it's more seed than anything else. And it's almost brown." He said while shaking the plastic bag in front of his face. The thick, brittle contents jumbled in front of Tony's face.

"Alright. I'll do better next time," he said with a small tremble in his voice.

Bruce laughed. "You're all so fun to mess with. You know that?"

The brown-haired boy next to Bruce sighed. "Lay off him, bro. He's had enough."

"Enough weed? I didn't know that was possible. Although I think someone in the gang greened out one time. And don't talk to me like that." Bruce barked as he took another quick drag.

"Or what?" Ishamel said with a smirk.

Bruce turned and gave him a fiery glare. His green eyes lit up, and his nostrils flared slightly. He leaned forward, almost putting his head on Ishmael's shoulders. "Are you trying to piss me off?"

Ishmael sighed. "Relax. Isn't this shit supposed to calm you down."

"Exactly," Bruce shouted. "Which is why he jerked us off with this skunk shit," he said while pointing at Tony.

Ishmael face palmed and stood up. "I think it's best if I leave. Tony, unless you wanna get the shit beat out of you like Preston yesterday. "

Tony looked down at Bruce. "But this is my house."

Bruce groaned as he shot to his feet. The tall figure imposed over one of his gang members. "Fine. I'll fucking go."

Ishmael opened the door and left. Bruce started to saunter towards the white door frame into the unlit hallway. Before he exited, he turned around. Tony was wiping some of the sweat from his glistening forehead. "By the way, that's another reason you're a pussy. You let us smoke in your fucking bedroom. Spray this shit. It's gonna stink."

* * *

Bruce's house was very small for the family of four. It was a frumpy one-story hut wedged between a tall apartment building and the dying branches of a decaying pine tree. The constant noise of box fans in windows and crying babies next door made Bruce attain a headache. That was part of the reason he organized his little gang to begin with.

He opened the oak door with chipped red paint fading from view. The house was a big open area with the exception of three rooms closed off by the thin, grey plywood walls. The air was comfortable and cool. The house was an oasis in the sweltering heat especially since many houses struggled to have any power.

On the black couch with the fraying seams, a woman with deep wrinkle lines each on her forehead and straggly black hair stared lost at the television screen. It was a news program with more propaganda, but it did not register in her mind.

Bruce smiled and walked towards her. He took her chin in his large hand and forced her head towards him. "Hello, mother. Aimless as usual today?"

She said nothing. Her mouth appeared to form a few words, but her remaining cognitions stopped them from appearing.

Bruce nodded. "Mmmhmm. Sure. Well, enjoy your self-loathing. Or whatever that doctor asshole diagnosed you with. Honestly, it's probably the same thing."

Bruce went to the hardwood stool next to the grey counter. He sat down and took a bite out of a dull apple in a basket. The thin juices travveled down his thrat with chunks of the fruit. As he looked in disdain at his mother, two girls rushed out of their room.

Brianne and Bryla. Another form of punishment for his past lives.

"Stop being mean to mommy," Brianne, the eldest at eight years old said while lightly smacking Bruce's leg.

Bruce thunked Brianne on the nose. She yelped in pain, covering her hurt skin.

"Don't hurt her," Bryla whined. "This is why you don't have any friends."

Bruce let out a wicked, high-pitched laugh. "Friends? I have plenty of friends. Don't you see me with those guys all the time."

Brianne, recovering from her pain, groaned. "Those are fake friends. What about the ones at school?"

Bruce rested his head on one hand and sighed in annoyance. "School isn't exactly something I do anymore, so I don't know what you're talking about. And since when do you care so much. I thought I was just the mean, old bully teachers tell you to stay away from. You know, sticks and stones and all that shit. But, when you grow up, you'll wish you were someone like me. That's why I'm not afraid to go outside at night like everyone else. If anything bad happens out there, it's because of me. And that is fucking that."

He stood up and headed towards his room. It was only a few feet away until he reached the door. Turning the cold copper doorknob, he turned around and looked at the main area. His sisters looked at him with wide eyes, but otherwise blank stares. Mom was as listless as ever, looking past the light from the television screen into her disrepair of memories.

Bruce shook his head. "Pointless."

He slammed the door.

**Sylvia Carlson (17)**

Sylvia and her brother kneeled on the brittle dirt in the scorching sun. A single cloud hung in the sky while the stagnant air suffocated them in the open field. The distant noise of moving cattle and shouting ranch hands reached them like the occasional mosquito poking at their tanned skin from hours of work.

She narrowed her eyes and thumped on the nail with the rubber mallet into the driftwood fence. Drake did the same next to her. She wiped the thin coat of sweat from her small forehead, brushing aside the bangs of her long, black hair.

She sighed and set down the mallet.

"He just has the stupidest accent," she said while turning towards Drake. "I mean, it's like somebody gave him strep throat and he drank ten shots of vodka."

Drake shifted towards her on the knees of his white-washed jeans and cocked an eyebrow. "And how would you know about vodka?"

Sylvia rolled her eyes. "Our boss has it in his pick-up truck. A crate of it. I'm assuming it's not water for us. You know, the people that actually work."

Drake gasped. "Shut up. Hanley is right there."

Sylvia craned her head towards one of the small barns on the ranch. A young man, face obscured by a white helmet, was looking down at an electronic device in his hands. Officer Brent Hanley looked over them all day. He hardly did any real work. He was not even five years older than her, but he was already more privileged and successful than Sylvia could imagine. And all he had to do was watch people toil in the fields.

"Ha! What's he gonna do? Kill me? I'm 1/85th of the reason he gets money off this place. The Capitol isn't made of cattle, you know." Sylvia said.

"Do you think he gives a shit?"

"Probably. Hanley doesn't know anything. Never has. Never will. But what are you going to do? Tell on me?"

Drake sighed and turned back to the incomplete wooden fence.

After a silent minute passed, Sylvia looked up at Drake. "Although, considering how things turned out for you with those thieves, I wouldn't put it past you."

Drake whipped around and narrowed his eyes in frustration. "Seriously? You're bringing that up?"

Sylvia rolled her eyes. "I'm just saying that taking on five big guys with a penknife is not the way to go. Now, a lump of lead travelling at light speed, that'll work."

Drake stood up and lifted Sylvia by the collar of her white undershirt. Their faces were hovered close to each other. The stench of sweat and dirt permeated from her brother's angry face. He stepped closer to her. "Listen. I know you might think it's funny, but I do what I can to protect this family."

Sylvia chuckled. "I didn't say it was funny. And I appreciate that. Bu-."

"Me protecting you?"

"No. You thinking I'm funny. Anyway, I'm just saying that you coming in like a wrecking ball against five brick walls wasn't your brightest idea."

"And stealing that gu-."

Sylvia slapped Drake on his thick shoulder, causing him to let go of her. Her brown eyes widened in surprise as Drake stepped back. "Shut up," She said. "You want me to get arrested?"

The siblings stared at each other. Sylvia could not help but think about the scene from a year ago.

Sylvia walking into her house to find nothing but the walls and doors remaining in the small shack.

Drake Obsessing over the thieves.

Drake coming back, bloodied and battered with a broken rib.

Sylvia feeling the cool metal of Hanley's gun fresh from his holster.

The puddle of blood growing underneath the bodies of the thieves after she found them

Sylvia sighed. "Listen. I know how things work. And, to be honest, I seriously doubt the Peacekeepers give a shit about anyone getting shot. Seriously, there needs to be a statute of limitations on this shit."

"Statue of what?"

"Not Statue. Statute. It's like a law."

"Something you don't care about."

"What's done is done. And I don't think anybody misses them.. Hell, if I were a peacekeeper like Hanley, I'd get a promotion. Then again, if I were like Hanley, I probably wouldn't have been in a position to get a raise for anything. I'm pretty sure the chair he sits in get's more work done than him."

"And thank God that's the case."

Sylvia scoffed. "Careful. We're not supposed to believe in that shit."

* * *

The day of the Reapings arrived with the crow of the rooster in the fields underneath the lavender-stroked fields. Sylvia looked out the mildew-invaded window to see the a few people mulling about, preparing for the ceremony later in the day. The small kitchenette with the old boiler stove warmed the chilled early-morning air seeping through the small cracks in the wooden house.

Sylvia sighed.

The prick on her fingertip made her cringe. With a small hiss, she was ushered into the section for her fellow seventeen-year-old females. It was more of an annoyance to Silvia, standing in the heat for almost an hour when it could all be wrapped up in ten minutes.

It made her a little antsy to stand there. She hopped up and down on her toes, trying to expel the nervous energy in her shaky limbs.

The female mentor trudged up to the microphone. She cleared her throat. "Welcome, once again. I hope you are all excited to find out who your next tributes are. So, let's get down to business. It is time for the best film of the year."

Sylvia almost groaned out loud as the lady turned to sit down in her wooden chair. The temporary screen set up around the small square lit up with the propaganda of Panem's past history.

Afterwards, she went up to the microphone. "Time for the show! As always, ladies will be first."

She reached her long arm down into the glass bowl filled with names. Snatching one from the bunch, she lifted up the paper and smoothed it out.

"Our first Tribute is Miss Sylvia Carlson."

Sylvia gasped.

All eyes snapped towards Sylvia's gangly frame, almost as if everybody knew who she was.

It was not even an afterthought for her to get selected to go into the Games. They seemed so far away from her reality of mud pies and grass stains on her fading jeans. She could not imagine a time were she even considered it a possibility. Now, her chances went from almost zero to one hundred percent. Her death had become the endgame for a cruel comedy that had not started until this moment. She felt that her soul had collapsed and left her body on autopilot, for surely she should be screaming in terror at the death sentence.

The cue for her vocal horror never came.

If anything, she would be a little relieved. One of her fears was to be caught and arrested for murder. Her past crimes never seemed to far away. For as much as she tried to dispel the fear with humor, her laughter could never quite convince herself that her fears of discovery were covered and buried like those five bodies.

Any noise uttered in the somber crowd was vanquished in the cloud of contemplation Sylvia used to shield her from the watching eyes of the District. She forced her eyeballs forwards and onto the cameras, taking every opportunity to miss her upset family.

"Our male tribute is a Mister Bruce Willysium."

As fast as the cameras shuttered with the flashes of light, a tall boy roughly her height encroached her from the side. He had lime-green eyes and black hair.

"Hope you're ready for the limelight, cowgirl."

**Bruce Willysium**

Brianna and Bryla held their mother's hand while they sat on the white leather couch in the waiting room. The middle-aged lady stared ahead at Bruce, but stopped at making any meaningful eye contact. The room was cold. The wooden tables had a thin coat of dust from misuse over the past year. The small, white room was obscured from the world by a painted-shut window and the open brown door.

Bruce had his legs crossed at his knees and grinned at his family.

"I bet you're happy about this," Bruce said.

Brianna huffed. "You should have been nicer to mommy. This is punishment."

Bruce laughed. "Punishment? From who? No, this is an opportunity, dear sister. An opportunity from whatever lives in the sky. If you believe in that, which I don't." He looked up at the wall clock. "I guess we have a little time left. But I guess the sooner for me, the better. Right?"

The trio across from him did nothing but stare at the imposing figure.

Bruce cackled again. "I bet you hope it's 'like father, like son.' Isn't that right, mom? A Peacekeeper kills dad, and I die from the Capitol as well? It's like they are doing your dirty work for you."

Bruce shot to his feet and spun towards the window behind him. "Your only alive because of his brother, you know. Uncle is the only person that actually cares. Dad dying was the best thing to happen to us. And I bet your hoping lightning strikes twice."

Bruce looked back at his family. His sisters looked angry and a little scared at him. His mom still looked down, almost as if she recognized his words and felt ashamed. More likely than not, she was still convalescing in her own bubble of air, separate from the outside world din thought and emotion.

"It might even be fun."

**Sylvia Carlson**

The group hug separated and gave Sylvia a chance to wrap up air. "Are you trying to kill me before the Games?"

Her father grunted. "Don't joke about that. Is everything a joke to you?"

Sylvia groaned. "No! I know what's happening. Don't treat me like I'm stupid. But maybe this is the only way I know how to cope. And you should be grateful for that. Do you think we would be okay if the world was filled with people like you and Drake. Serious, impersonal, and humorless people?" Silvia said loudly.

Her mother put a hand on her shoulder. "We get it, dear. Those two aren't very funny."

"Exactly. But it's people like mom and me that make the world a little less sucky. I would hope that you all got that by now. So, you know what? I'm going to do that. And I'm going to fight my way out of there."

Drake nodded. "You have to."

Her father hugged her again. "Exactly. You've been working hard your whole life. That means something over there."

Sylvia sighed. She squeezed her father in once again. "I guess."

Sylvia looked at the rest of her family. Just then, a Peacekeeper walked in. A very familiar one.

"Officer Hanley?"

The young man nodded. "Let's go."

Out in the hallway, Sylvia looked forward after saying her goodbyes. Her eyes stung a little bit, but she swallowed the stiffness in her throat and held her head up. The boots next to her thumped on the hardwood floor as they headed towards the back of the building.

"You think I'm stupid?"

Sylvia looked up at Brent Hanley. "What?"

He looked at her and raised an eyebrow. "Nevermind".

* * *

**I hope everybody is pleased that this chapter did not take over a month to complete. Not Quite a month. **

**Thank you for reading. Remember, there are still Tribute slots open. Diversity is key! Refer as many people as you can to fav, follow, REVIEW, or SUBMIT A TRIBUTE for sponsor points. **

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	13. Updated Sponsor List

**Here is the new and improved sponsor list. This is how to get points and spend them.**

**Points Opportunities**

Submit an extra Tribute: 5 points

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A club: 25 points

Knife: 25 points

Plant guide (for poisonous foods): 30 points

Whip: 35 points

First aid kit: 45 points

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Cocaine: 50 points

Space tether (don't worry, this will still be useful): 55 points

Axe: 60 points

Roast beef dinner (feeds two): 70 points

Sword: 75 points

Bow and arrow (6 arrows): 75 points

Map of Current arena (yes, there are multiple): 80 points

Flash bang grenade (2): 85 points

Smoke grenade (2): 85 points

Space Suit: 95 points

Space ship instruction manual: 100 points

Capitol Vaccine (cures anything): 110 points

Pistol (6 shots): 120 points

Jetpack: 125 points

Interdimensional GPS: 150 points

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**I will tabulate and post current sponsor points soon. I will say that the highest earner has 60 points right now. So get cracking, everybody!**

**Please let me know if you have any comments, concerns, or ideas.**


	14. District 8 Reapings

**Emerson Aquinas Locke (18)**

"The main issue is dealing with other ideologies."

"Or lack thereof."

Emerson and his father sat at the plastic, orange dining room table with an apple in front of each of them. The small apartment was dimly-lit and filled with the noise of dish washing from his mother by the silver sink behind him.

"Exactly. No dissent is being allowed whatsoever. And this is something that has been happening for almost a century now. Do you really believe anybody towards the top believes in Kirkland and his powers. I will say he is much better than the others."

"That's only because he is younger and more experienced."

"True."

"I'll be completely honest. If Kirkland was actually good, unlike all the other presidents we have had, nobody would mind being under a dictatorship."

"Exactly. You see, Aquinas said that monarchies can actually be good if they are responsive to their constituents. Nobody has done that before."

"That's because they're pussies. If they could handle criticism, they would have done so already."

"So, when Panem is liberated, what should we do?"

Emerson laughed. "If, and I mean, if that ever happens, we need real representatives. But the thing is that the government is putting nothing into making us any better than now. We need systems with benefits that can support us. Benefits. That's the number one thing that is missing."

"So you honestly think that more government control is what is needed?"

"Not that. I'm saying that more money and programs need to come in for the poor. Welfare. It's this sort of fascist government that Aquinas said would cause anarchy. Out of the millions of people living here, nobody wants this rule. Nobody wants Snow, or Lanarsus, or Kirkland. We need a way for them to support us instead of hiding us in sewer systems filled with monsters and explosives."

His dad rolled his eyes "Social programs aren't going to stop the Games, though. Do you have something picked out for tomorrow?"

"Dad, don't change the subject."

"Talking about our great leaders are not going to save you from getting a bullet in your eye."

Emerson sighed. He stood up on the linoleum floor and walked towards the red front door. His mom said the bright colors made the house more welcoming, but the design seemed garish and monochromatically crimson to him. As he waded through the sent of smoldering clean linen candles, he turned the golden knob and started to leave.

"Where are you going?" His dad called out.

"Work," Emerson said without looking back as he left the room.

The walk through the gloomy street in District Eight was interrupted by the marching peacekeeper that gave Emerson a cold stare and the stray chorus of cats that snarled at any piece of walking meat they on the damp cobblestone road. The decrepit grey apartment buildings. The screen of textile smoke rose above the square roofs and hovered underneath grey clouds.

An automobile that was pounded into a dead power pole rested in a huddled bundle of metal. The crashed car had een there since the Peacekeepers returned two years ago.

Emerson stared at the ground as he moved through the maze of cracking brick walled apartments and a woman bracing her hands by a small fire in a trash can. The dampness made the night quite cold for the middle of summer. With the electric infrastructure barely humming through the frayed power lines, usage of electricity was suspect at best, nonexistent at worst.

The teenager opened the foggy double doors into the homely, rotunda-shaped building. The spines of book shone in the light of the recycled glass chandeliers hanging over the long, circular wooden bookshelves built into the concrete walls. The second floor, accessible by a short staircase had older books resting in the flakes of dust.

The boy with black crew-cut hair and grey eyes was amazed everyday that a library of any capacity could exist in Panem, let alone in the war-torn land of District Eight. The District was a more urban upkeep than many other districts. There was no room for libraries, not with thousands of people still starving in the dank alleyways.

He had dusted, repainted, and furnished the inside of the nearly-razed library himself after reading a few of the how-to books with water-damaged pages ready to be worn into tiny pieces. It was incredible that he refurbished the place to a respectable standard. It was a miracle that the Peacekeepers allowed it.

Emerson reached the circular desk in the middle and sat in the chair. He sighed and rested his head on the cool wood. He closed his eyes.

He thought about the books he had just read. They were the only good source of entertainment around. He felt the leather binds forcing him to stay in the fabric-rich District slip away like soap in a sink as he rose to the words of people before him. Most of the books were propaganda, but the best ones were the illegal books (or books he were pretty sure were illegal) that he hid behind the indoctrinating manuals he was forced through in school.

The library was the safest place in Panem. He never felt in peril, and he never felt like he was apart of the poor, emaciated grey world waiting to torture him outside.

A hand slapped a package next to him. His head jolted up, and he yelped in surprise. He looked up at the blonde-haired girl towering over his hunched figure in the chair.

"It's a new book. Well, it's more of a play than anything. And it's super rare," she said in a sultry voice.

Emerson raised an eyebrow. "Thanks, Beth. How long have you been here?"

Beth smirked. "Just wanted to see if you were still alive."

"You say that everyday."

"Just getting you ready for tomorrow," she said with a wink.

Emerson and Beth had been close friends for the past two years. Emerson had been told time and time again that Beth had flirted with him non-stop since they met, but he did not see that. They were just very good friends. To him, at least.

Beth tapped on the brown package. "Open it. You'll love it."

Emerson fumbled with the wrapping and ripped through the paper. Shuffling the torn, thin covering away, he uncovered the book. It had a crimson cover with a balding man looking with fury at him. On top of his head was a smaller man crouched in what seemed to be a costume of some blue bird.

He looked up a Beth's lime eyes. "I've never seen this before."

"The title?" Beth asked.

"_Birdman Or (The Unexpected Virtue Of Ignorance)._ Is it like a play?"

"Exactly. From way back in the day. This is one of only two copies left, and it looked interesting, so I got it for you."

Emerson grinned. "Thanks."

Beth huffed. "No reward or anything like that? I worked hard to illegally smuggle that."

Emerson looked at Beth with an inquisitive expression. "What do you mean? Isn't the satisfaction of knowledge enough?"

"Honestly," Beth said with a frown. "For a seventeen-year-old girl, very little is enough."

Beth sauntered over to the front door. As she gripped the golden door handle, she looked back with a soft expression on her face. "Better finish that soon. Never know what'll happen at the Reapings," she said in a soft voice.

With a grin, she left. Emerson shook off her words and delved into the play.

**Maiza (Mai) Bluhurte (17)**

The cool water ran through Maiza's hands like the pink earthworms slithering through the moist dirt underneath her bare feet. Despite the soft drizzle, she felt energized by the rough waters beside her on the riverbank. She loved the feel of raindrops stabbing her bare shoulders as she waded through the chopped waves of the river.

"Stop playing with the dirt and get over here."

Maiza looked up at the source of the deep voice. Her friend, Tus, had his hands on his hips as he waited for her to come forward.

Maiza rolled her eyes and got up, adjusting the straps on her yellow bikini. She walked over the soft soil towards the tall male. When she reached him, she pushed him back. "Don't boss me around. I'll come to you when I'm ready," she said with a playful smirk.

"Whatever."

"Maiza, can I ask you something?"

Maiza looked at a girl with long, braided brown hair. "Yes, Brica?"

Brica cleared her throat. "So, as you know, this place was very important to the folks back before the revolution days."

Maiza sighed. "As exciting as their deaths sound, I think we have enough to go around."

Brica stammered. "It has nothing to do with that. I'm not interested in the death. I'm talking about their second lives."

"Ghosts." Tus said.

Brica nodded. "In a crude sense. Can't you feel them?"

Maiza stopped and looked around at the shoreline. The dark clouds dropped more pellets of rain like the fallen bullets on the battleground. The quite breeze ruffled the edges of the deciduous trees, making them dance like leaves in a small twister.

"I don't feel anything," she said.

"Same here," Tus said.

The other girl looked over at the two teenagers and hummed. "One day you will. Nobody realizes just how many other beings there are, even the ones that don't exist yet. But they are all important, especially the ones we don't know about."

"Well, aren't we special?" Maiza said to Tus. "We get to experience the unknown first."

"Don't make fun," Brica whined.

"I'm not making fun," Maiza said. "I just came here to swim, and you're trying to bring back undead beings."

"I thought you came here to play-fight," Tus said.

Maiza smirked and turned to him. "It's called sparring."

"With you? It's play-fighting."

Maiza gasped dramatically and clutched her bare, flat stomach. "Are you challenging me?"

Tus took a step back and crouched down slightly into a fighting stance. "Unless you want to prove otherwise."

Maiza grinned. "Brica, ref for us."

Brica sighed. "As usual."

Maiza rushed towards Tus, ready to commence their battle on the riverbank.

* * *

"You need a real dress."

Maiza looked up from her blue jeans and tight red shirt at her mother. She was a regal, proper looking aristocrat. She stood in the doorway with a tight frown. As the sunlight warmed the spacious emerald-walled room, Maiza rose from her queen-sized lavender bed and walked towards her mother.

"I look fine with this one," she gestured to herself. "If anyone really cared, then I would have been shot and robbed a long time ago."

"We are lucky. Me and your father get all of these things. Things nobody else in this District can afford. And you don't want to wear any of them."

"I still look better than most of them, mom. And I;m not saying that to be conceited. It's true," Maiza said as she turned to the tll mirror next to her window. Her long chestnut hair was tightened into a ponytail while she rubbed her dark brown eyes. "Now, can I be left alone. This isn't really something I need to deal with right now."

"You remember how lucky you are to be in this family and in this house."

Maiza rolled her eyes as her mother left. After straightening her hair, she walked out into the long, wide hallway. The golden tresses along the baseboards of the wall matched with the yellow picture frames of their family's history. She briskly passed a man with a walrus moustache, standing next to her mother who donned a white wedding dress with the long train flowing behind her.

More and more pictures of the happy couple hanged on the periwinkle wall. As she got to the large dining room, a single picture of her and three smaller children were put in a dark corner. A few strands of dust had been collected along the faded edges. It was her three siblings: Jarid, a year older than her, and the two young twins, Era and Willot.

Only one picture in the entire house of their kids. Maiza always became angry at the thought. However, the tight hug and large grin she had, matching the rest of the kids in the picture, immediately put her back at ease.

Maiza would have to see them later. They were already situated at the Reapings.

At the crowded town square, Maiza huddled around the eighteen year old girls. It was her final year, so her fingers twitched with anticipation to leave. The hot sun beamed down on them. The weather had cleared up just in time for a picturesque ceremony.

Soon, a large man wearing high, platform shoes sauntered through the main doors of the town hall. As he reached the microphone, he let out a massive laugh. It was a high-pitched squeal that made Maiza shiver.

"Hello, and welcome everybody to this year's Reapings. You've all seen the video, so it is time to pick out our lucky Tributes to bring honor and glory to this…wonderful District. Ladies first."

The man reached out his stubby fingers towards the large glass bowl. When he reached in, his shoulder plunged through the top of the bowl before coming back up. He straightened himself and unfurled the small slip of paper.

"Our female tribute this year is Miss Alyson Janison."

Maiza gasped as she looked over at the fifteen-year-old section. A smaller girl with green eyes and short brown hair started to tremble. A scream was bubbling up from behind her drying throat. The whole crowd turned to her and pointed their vision at her like nails in a black coffin.

It was Brica's younger sister.

"I volunteer as Tribute."

Maiza's voice rose by itself over the murmuring crowd. Like a flash of lightening, the District turned to her. As she saw the people scanning her like a piece of meat, her legs started to move forward on their own. It was a slow death march to a waiting guillotine.

Maiza surveyed her situation. She had just volunteered. There was no going back. She felt salty liquid moisturize around her eyelids, obscuring her vision of the staring cameras.

It was her following another impulse. Her life was made up of impulsive decisions, and this could be her last one.

For some reason, she was okay with that.

She had saved Brica's sister. Her family was not nearly as well-off as her own, so they needed all the tesserae they could get. One less child would cut those rations down.

The major drawback was her siblings missing her. She would be gone forever.

Maiza would not let that nightmare become a reality.

She took to the stage and stood up straight. Looking up slightly over the horizon, the clear, cerulean sky stretched through the small world she had been imprisoned inside. Her upper lip stiffened, and she spoke with a smooth dryness.

"My name is Maiza Bluhurte, and I am this year's Victor."

**Emerson Aquinas Locke (18)**

The family was not hysterical like he thought they would be. Instead, there was a solemn look of acceptance on their faces. His father had blown his nose and dabbed his moist face dry a number of times as he sat on the red love seat. His mother, who had nearly strangled him with a massive hug, was planted on the armrest next to his father. Emerson's brother and sister, Augustine and Jone, cuddled up next to him on the brown sofa in front of the red walls surrounding him.

Not a single sentence passed between them as they lay in a quiet, desperate state. None of the family had the courage to look the other one in the eye. They did not want to give themselves the chance to say goodbye and break down further.

Emerson saw the clock on the wall. He knew his time was close to over. He cleared his throat. The family snapped their attention to him like a line of training Peacekeepers.

"We disagree about a lot of things. Uh…but I need t-to make it clear that I do love you. You're my family, and you can't pick those, right? So thank you for sticking with me. And I hope I can see you in the future."

His father stood up and trudged over the purple carpet towards him. He clapped a rogh had on Emerson's shoulder. They looked at each other. Emerson saw the redness sawell in his father's eyes.

"Hoping isn't going to do anything. Hoping is for when you have no control over it. But you do. You can come back. But don't hope for it. Make it happen."

Emerson nodded. "Yes, sir."

A short knock was heard. The family looked up and saw Beth at the doorframe. "Can I have a second?"

"Fine," his father said. "I think we are done here."

His parents and siblings got up and individually gave him a soft hug. Emerson smiled and thanked them again as they left together.

Beth looked over at Emerson and lightly pushed him back onto the couch. She sat next to him on the warm leather.

"Did you like Birdman?" she asked.

"What?" Emerson asked with a confused expression.

"_Birdman_? _The Unexpected Virtue Of Ignorance_? Don't tell me you didn't read it?"

Emerson nodded. "I did. I loved it. A little sadder than I would have liked, but it was still great."

"Remember the quote at the beginning? _And did you get what you wanted from this life, even so?_"

"Yes."

Beth smirked. "_And what did you want?_"

"_To call myself beloved, to feel myself beloved on this Eart-."_

The last syllable died as Beth latched her mouth onto Emerson's. His shock as Beth kissed him turned into instinct as he returned her lust-filled affection. They continued to kiss until Emerson ra out of breath. He pulled back and held Beth at an arms length, panting at the giggling girl as her green eyes lit up.

"Wha…What the hell…was that?"

She smirked at him again and raised an eyebrow. "Seriously. I hit on you for almost a year, and you still don't get it?"

"No, I got the message loud and clear. Why now?"

Beth got up and caressed his face. "Now you have to come back. Besides, I have a whole lot more in store for you. There's this book I've been keeping from you, and I want to try a few things from it."

Emerson gasped. "What?"

She laughed. "I'll give you a hint. It starts with a number, and ends with a color."

The Peacekeeper came in. "Time to go."

Beth had a watery smile on her face as her eyes started to fill up with emotion. "Have fun, babe. Cause you're gonna have a bunch when you get back."

Emerson could not believe his eyes and ears. How could he be so oblivious. AS he clutched the book, he felt something on the inside cover. He opened it, and he saw an old brass coin. It was the coin with the word "knowledge" in an unknown language printed on one side, and a mysterious man plastered on the other.

That was all the resolve Emerson needed.

He was going to come back. He had a library to take care of, and a girl to make up to.

* * *

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	15. District 12 Reapings

**Foster Arkgrime**

The black smog sailed over the small, matchbox-shaped brown shop by the gravel road. It always hung over the District as the billowing towers flowed out of the aging coal mines. The entire town permeated smoke. Foster's nose was shocked daily by the difference in aromas. In the humble herbal store, lemon and honeysuckle candles smoldered around the small square tables. Steel racks and rows of green and red herbs hugged the edges of the shop.

Suddenly, the door swung open. Loud wooden planks squeaked underneath the leather boots of the black man in white, shining body armor parading inside.

"Hello, Mister Cawliss. Did you enjoy th-."

The man's face turned with anger as he slammed down the small tin can on the cashier counter, interrupting Foster. "This is not the burn ointment."

Foster grinned and smoothed his short, jet black hair. "Whatever do you mean, sir?"

"It doesn't do anything. We put it on the burn mark, but it didn't do shit. I want my money back."

Foster looked over at the small wall clock ticking behind him. He turned back to the man. "Did you mix it with water?"

The man's brown eyes widened in fury. "You never said anything about water."

Foster gasped. "I didn't? I'm so sorry. I thought it said something on the label."

The man looked down at the label on the small purple tin. Sure enough, a picture of a container with a clear liquid was stuck onto the cream dispenser.

The man glared at Foster's steel blue eyes before grimacing. "Forget it," he waved Thomas off.

The man trudged out of the store, looking with disdain at the organized layers of candles and herbs placed on the chipped wooden racks. The small cowbell rang as the man burst through the door and slammed it shut, causing the fragile door frame to shake.

Foster shook his head and took a white rag. He began to wipe away the thin film of grey dust. With the swipe of the worn cloth, the dust bounced into the air and danced around in a small twister. Thomas felt his throat dry, and he let out a few hacking coughs.

Suddenly, he felt a pair of slender arms wrap themselves around his thin waist. A head rested itself on the white apron shoulders.

Foster grinned and turned his head. He yelped and bumped into the counter when he saw himself.

His twin sister giggled at Foster. "Expecting someone else?"

Foster rubbed his head. His sun-kissed skin turned a slight red around his warming face. "I guess not."

"That guy was an idiot, wasn't he?"

Foster painted a pained smile onto his face. "I guess. Maybe I should have told him about the water. I think I left that part out."

"On purpose?"

"They're Peacekeepers."

She scoffed. "They talk like they're so smart. I thought they actually were for a second. Why are you smiling like that?"

"What do you mean? I can't smile?"

"Yeah, but it's a fake smile. What's wrong?"

Foster scratched his arm. "It's kinda stupid, but I'm just really worried about Gilda right now."

She sighed. "It's amazing that the poison didn't kill her. I really thought it would." She said.

Foster and Petunia were as close as twins could be. Despite being widely popular in the District, Thomas felt lonely quite often, lost in the black smog and black markets that they had to compete against to make money. It was hard to support his grandparents when he was the only worker in the family.

"Should I be by her right now? I feel like I should."

Petunia groaned. "Of course not. We need you up here. I can't run the store and put together the products by myself. And watching her isn't going to change anything. "

Foster looked down at the creaking floorboards. Petunia's brown flats had scattered a few particles of red dirt and strands of hay from outside. "It's my first relationship, so I want to do it right."

Petunia frowned. For an instant, Foster saw her blue eyes twitch slightly while she squeezed one of her small hands into a fist. The instant tense state overcame Petunia's demeanor like a fly zipping through the incense-fueled air.

Petunia relaxed and grinned. "I know. And any girl would be lucky to have you."

She took a step over and kissed Foster on his cheek. "Don't be so hard on yourself, big brother."

Foster sighed. "I told you not to call me big brother. We're six minutes apart."

Petunia laughed. "I think it's cute."

The twins looked at each other with a small smile grown on their faces. Petunia took her hand and rubbed a dark dash on Foster's cheek. It was a burn mark.

"It's almost been eight years."

Foster grabbed Petunia and hugged her. "I know. But he can't do anything anymore. Dad's gone," he whispered.

Petunia smiled and burrowed her face into the crane of Foster's neck, causing the boy to frown in confusion.

**Petunia Arkgrime**

Petunia did not have any real friends. She definitely had people she talked chatted with, and a number of them would consider her a good friend. She did not want friends, however. She felt the gripes of boredom enough while sitting on a rusted metal bench watching the Seam explode to life with illegal steak and morphine sales while some teenybopper talked about the cute guy or ugly girl that she spotted.

What Petunia wanted from them was information more than anything. She thrived off of consuming the ongoing of the District and the people around her. It was how she found out about Gilda before Foster told her. Manipulation was one thing she learned from her deceased father. After hours of drinking and lounging around, she came to realize that he would get no better. She had to try and get rid of him. One burned down house and scar on Foster's face later, they moved in with their grandparents. The twins became closer than ever. Petunia felt like nothing in the world was sweeter than seeing Foster happy, especially after their father's death.

As she threw on her tight yellow sun dress, she turned the frame of her with Thomas and their grandparents slightly towards the sunlight peeking through the white blinds. Looking in the mirror, she straightened out her long, black hair while leaving her small room.

She went down the cracked steps to the black front door. Thomas stood there wearing a white button down shirt with khaki pants.

"Are you trying to make all the girls jealous of Gild-."

Petunia's foot collided with her right heel, and she flew forward. Fortunately, being so close to the ground, Thomas dived over and hooked his arms through Petunia's. He stood her upright and looked her over.

"You alright?"

Petunia nodded. "I was just saying something. About Gilda. I guess I'm still clumsy, huh?"

Foster shrugged. "No big deal. People seem to like that about other people."

"If Gilda was clumsy like me, she would be more attractive?"

Foster stammered. "Wh-what? N-no, I was just saying."

They marched in silence through the quiet streets. Petunia ignored the drooped, softened faces of the children they walked past on the moist black dirt. The days of misery stretched through the decrepit town like the stench of charcoal and smoke from the nearby mines.

The town square was packed as usual with the nervous energy of a thousand tired, hot, and anxious teenagers waiting to break from the tightening pens they were shuffled into every year.

Petunia planted a quick kiss on Foster's cheek, making him gasp in surprise. "See you afterwards."

She chuckled while the lady in the chair pricked her finger for blood. Petunia walked through towards her spot. She bumped shoulders and arms with the other girls until she made it comfortably in the middle. She was never nervous around others. She couldn't be if she wanted to achieve her closely-guarded goals. Networking was key for her. Some people would consider it manipulation, but Petunia did not like to use that word.

"Welcome to this year's Hunger Games," the pale man in a dark blue tuxedo said. "Now, I'm aware that it is quite warm out here, so let's get through with this before I drown in sweat."

The man reached down into the bowl and swiped a slip of paper. Smoothing it out in the air, he cleared his throat.

"Our female tribute for District Twelve is Miss Petunia Arkgrime."

Petunia shivered at the sound of her name. She did not take out nearly as much tesserae as Foster. It could not be happening to her; the Capitol was waiting for her. As her jelly legs shook through the parting crowd of young girls, she shuddered at the foreboding wooden stage and steel cameras spying on her fear.

But was that such a bad thing?

Petunia considered her situation while breathing softly to calm her nerves. Being reaped was shocking, but there was a way through this. The Capitol and the Games had always fascinated her. It had always been an unreachable challenge that she wanted to conquer. Most importantly, it would be her chance to prove that she was not the angel she wanted to appear as. It was a game to pretend to be a perfect angel and switch to different sides. As long as Foster was there, she would be okay.

Even if she didn't win, her and her big brother would always be together in death.

She could only assume that he would volunteer. He had to. They were meant to go through this together. Petunia scrunched her eyes shut and clenched her fists. A small fire was burning in her chest as the man called out another name.

More time passed. She heard footsteps scatter to let another kid go towards his death.

He was getting closer.

Petunia felt a hot, stinging sensation in her eyes. This was her chance to get Thomas away from Gilda and go with her to the Games. It would be more effective than the poison. This would be absolute, an example of her love and devotion only she could have towards her big brother.

"I volunteer."

Petunia gasped when the voice pierced through the silent cemetery in front of the stage. When she saw his black hair and eyes, both identical to hers, she put on a wide grin.

Foster rushed up to the stage and crashed into Petunia with a hug.

"It will be okay," Foster whispered into Petunia's ear. "I can't believe this is happening, but we'll make it through this."

Petunia tried to hide the smirk in Thomas's shoulder. "Yes, we'll be together. That's all I needed, big brother."

* * *

**I know this chapter is not nearly as long as the last reaping, but for some strange reason, I liked what I wrote even if it is less than 2,000 words. I liked where it went ands topped. Quality, not quantity.**

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	16. District 5 Reapings

**District 5**

**Oscar Timas (15)**

Oscar preferred the quiet. For him, very little was more comforting than a thick calculus problem beside his oak lamp in the small, crimson-walled bedroom. As the lemon-scented candle smoldered on his nightstand, Oscar craned his head up and stretched his head. His eyes tried to adjust from disconnecting with the white pages he examined for two hours.

The butterflies skied with the breeze outside, funneled by the buildings of poor slums and underpaid employees for the power plants. The nationalized utilities hub was in District Five. Power lines crisscrossed over the quiet reservoir colliding with the rebuilt electric dam. Even the sun mocked the miserable residents as it radiated and scorched the hot summer day.

Oscar avoided all of the beauty and poverty by sheltering himself in his room. He felt secure and hidden from the rest of the world. It was a sanctuary that sectioned him off from the Panem landscape, and he could not be any happier by himself.

A knock on the door shattered his tranquil stare out the window. He turned with the speed of one of the crows zooming through the blue sky.

"Who is there?" he said.

The door creaked open and allowed the dim light from the narrow hallway to sneak into the room. A female head with long blonde hair and a relaxed face poked her head through the opening.

"Can I come in?"

Oscar nodded at her.

Barker walked inside and sat on his twin bed with the fuzzy grey blanket covering her face.

"Is there a problem?"

Barker turned her face and looked at Oscar. "No. Just tired."

"From what?"

Barker rolled her eyes. "From school. How do you go through all of that work so fast. You know it's all propaganda anyway."

Oscar licked his lips. "I realize that. I want to learn from different perspectives."

Barker tilted her head and raised her thin eyebrows. "Right. Good luck with that. Most libraries just have books about how great Panem is and how much we suck."

Oscar rubbed his forehead. "You have to take the bad with the good. Honestly, we should be glad they even have school."

Barker sprawled over the thin sheets of the bed, causing the plywood underneath the mattress to squeak. "It's not like being smart gets people anywhere around here. You just work until you either get promoted or you get stuck in a rut."

Oscar sighed. "Maybe that's why people are so weird around me. Have you ever noticed that? Whenever I go somewhere, people don't want to be by me. I might intimidate them."

"Your appearance doesn't help matters, either."

"What do you mean?"

"You always dress so fancy with those button-downs. And you always sleek your hair back."

The thin boy felt his thick, brown hair. "I like to look presentable. That's the only way people will trust you around here."

"Apparently not. You do intimidate people."

Oscar looked outside through the clear window once again. A number of workers in yellow hard hats and grey protective uniforms were walking through the wearing concrete of the street. They're faces were tired and blank, like they had witnessed a murder.

He looked down at his paper and continued his math equation. Barley rested on his bed behind him and stared at the blank ceiling.

**Chloe Garret (15)**

Chloe sat on the splintering wood of the park bench in front of the smoking nuclear reactor. The soft humming from the plant always calmed her down from her propensity to being tense. The tightening in her back constricted her movement, and she could not fathom why this was the case.

School was not a major issue for her. Numbers connected with her like the cold pipes running above her room in the basement of her small single-story chateau. For as hard as her small bed was, she became used to the thin mattress and brown bedding that accompanied it.

"Knew I would find you here."

Chloe looked up and brushed her long red hair from her blue eyes. One of her three brothers, Sam, towered over her, causing the shadow to block out the harsh sunbeams battering the drying grass growing between the cement slabs that made up the sidewalk.

"Why?"

Sam tilted his head. "Really? You come here all the time."

Chloe brushed him off. "I like nuclear energy."

"You're fifteen. Do normal fifteen year old things."

Chloe groaned. "So what? Why is it wrong to be different?"

"You're in Panem, dear sister. We should all be equal."

"Some are just more equal than others," she said with an eye roll. She noticed a small pebble on the ground by her small feet. She reached for it and flung it across the empty road.

She picked up another one and threw it as well.

"Have you ever felt tense for no reason?"

Sam pushed his glasses up the ridge of his small nose. "We do have a reason, though. Tomorrow is a pretty important day."

"What? No, I wasn't even thinking of that. I've felt this way for a while. Like a giant brick is pushing down on me. My back has been really tense lately, and don't say it's about the bed. I've been on that bed for years, and this has never happened.

Sam sat down next to Chloe and put his hand on her hunched shoulder. "I get it. We're all stressed out. But I think that, at least subconsciously, you are thinking about tomorrow."

Chloe stood up and walked over to the edge of the sidewalk and the road. She crossed her arms over her chest and sighed. Her entire body was as straight and terse as the light posts flickering on to illuminate the retreating workers as they poured out from the plant.

* * *

Chloe dragged her feet through the crowded town square. She was not feeling any better after sleeping in her cold room. The people around her made her feel enclosed and imprisoned in a claustrophobic space. After getting the trademark finger prick, she sucked her thin index finger while being shuffled by a rough Peacekeeper towards the section.

Standing in the sun was beginning to feel unbearable in her red blouse that matched her hair. She tapped her foot with the anxiety of one of the hungry hummingbirds in her sorry excuse of a backyard searching for a flower to pollinate. Her breathing increased slightly while the wait stretched on before all of the children were put into their respective places.

A man with light grey hair and donning an orange suit sauntered towards the microphone from his wooden seat. He cleared his throat and tapped the boom microphone on the stand.

"Hello, ladies and gentleman. Another year, another exciting Reapings awaiting us all. Who is ready?" he shouted with a fist pump.

The crowd stared blankly ahead at the steps to city hall. The man looked around and hoped that a sprinkle of energy would wave through the crowd. Unfortunately, no such lightning bolt of expression came from the tense and nervous teenagers.

"Very well. Let's get the party started for the two lucky tributes. Ladies first, as always."

The clacking of black boots on the stone steps.

The shuffling of paper in the glass bowl.

And the crackle of sound over the speakers.

"Give it up for Miss Chloe Garret."

Chloe took a deep intake of breath and stood still. A faint stroke of hope made her sap her eyesight towards the Peacekeepers while they started to come the stationary crowd. It was stupid, but maybe she could find a way to not be found.

Of course, the Peacekeepers looked at their tablets and came across her picture and age. It took only a minute before Chloe felt the rough tug of a black glove yank her towards the front.

Chloe finally shook off the inaction and felt her legs move forward through the forest of bodies separating to allow her forward. There was no thoughts going through her mind. She felt like she was free-floating on the power of shock and sunrise.

She reached the stage and had a shell-shocked expression towards the crowd. Her brothers and sister cheeks were swollen and moist from their misery.. Her parents were hidden away in the crowd, but they were sobbing as well.

"Time for the fortunate male tribute to step up."

Chloe payed no attention while the man went through the papers in the corner of her eye.

"The male of the day is Mister Oscar Timas."

The crowd was silent and stationary once again. As the Peacekeepers started to scramble for the tribute, a rigid by with impeccable posture slowly trudged forward. His blonde hair was sleeked back, and his head was raised upward slightly as if he were challenging the Panem flag waving on the metal flagpole to a staring contest. The first person to die would win.

Chloe felt the air of stuffiness and self-centered insecurity radiate off of Oscar. He gave her a quiet nod and looked out at the audience.

"Our future victors are one of these two, ladies and gentleman. Wish luck to Oscar Timas and Chloe Garret."

Suddenly, their arms were linked with the pearl-shaded sleeves of the Peacekeepers, and they were ushered into the stone building behind them .

**Oscar Timas**

The silence echoed through the lavender-walled room with a picture of President Kirkland hanging above the green couch. Oscar sat between his parents. Both of them were staring down at the yellow carpet. Oscar stared ahead, focusing on the tiny crack at the grey baseboard at the bottom of the wall.

More silence.

Oscar felt his heartbeat quicken. He felt goosebumps on his arms whenever the increasing number of footsteps in the hallway grew louder, before ultimately passing by.

Any second could be his last as a simple citizen.

Oscar stood up and started to pace around the room. His parents watched him as he clasped his hands behind his back.

"People think it's simple to be yourself nowadays. You know that?" Oscar said without looking at them.

His mother and father said nothing.

"Maybe I have taken things for granted. All those times by myself. Holed up and reading something that isn't important anymore. I could have been outside getting sunlight. There's some nice places around here, right?"

"Oscar," his mother said in a high-pitched voice.

"Am I right? I don't have any real friends except for one. And that was more her than me."

"Oscar, plenty of people like you. Everytime I go to work, people are asking about you," his dad said with his voice breaking.

Oscar stopped and turned to his parents. "It takes a lot of work to be special to other people. You two, I didn't need to work for. I'm your son, but other people make it much harder to mean something to them."

Oscar looked at the open door. Another pair of footsteps seemed to be approaching from the far end of the empty hallway.

"At least I will affect someone out there. But I'm too scared to think about that. I just want to say that I do love you. It's hard to show it when I want to be alone all the time, but I do. I wish I was better in many things, but I hope you forgive me for not appearing to care enough."

His parents stayed on the couch. There were no more hysterics. It was a quiet contemplation of impending doom for this young man. There was not a word that could ease him into acceptance or calm. Oscar was struggling to keep his nerves in check, but it grew harder with the increasing volume of the footsteps.

"I think that is them. Goodbye."

"We don't need to forgive you," his mother said.

Oscar nodded and walked towards the door.

"I hope you remember that," his father spoke softly.

Oscar turned the corner.

* * *

**Thank you for joining me once again for another Reapings. We are 75% done with them. The fun will near us soon.**

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	17. District 3 Reapings

**Lizzie Stratton-15**

The mystery within the brown paperback irritated Lizzie to no end. With the fast cliffhanger pounding on her heart-shaped head, she sat at the oak table and played with the asparagus on the yellow plate. Very little else was placed in front of her except for the steaming eight ounces of chicken and lukewarm water in a paper cup. The air was hard to breathe as the window let in the dim sunlight sneaking through the army of crumbling high-rises and burning smokestacks that created a thin film of smog over the sweating residents of District Three.

Her short, light brown hair fell over her face that she covered with small, smooth hands. She never grasped how the morning could ever calm anybody from a rough night of sleeplessness. Her sluggish limbs never cooperated with her until the sun was starting to travel on the other side of the grey skies.

The harsh steps down the hallway made Lizzie's nerves tense as she sighed in annoyance. As the soft shadow fell around her, she looked up at the tall figure wearing a smirk. Her lime green eyes narrowed.

"What, Maxwell?"

Her older brother crossed his arms. "Just happy you finally decided to live in the real world."

Lizzie clenched her fists. "Ten in the morning is not the real world. I'm still dreaming until I fall back asleep."

"Got that line from your shitty poetry?"

"Say that again."

Maxwell chuckled and shook his head. "With all that anger pent up, you'd be perfect for volunteering tomorrow."

"Shut up," Lizzie said as she stood up. "I'm leaving. Good luck with your free loading, moocher."

Maxwell nodded. "And good luck with your existing. You're going to need it."

Lizzie slammed the plywood door. A picture of her as a baby with Maxwell fell to the floor and cracked.

Bouncing onto the sidewalk, she strutted down the lazy street as the permanent haze drifted over her. The hems of her tight blue jeans dragged on the pavement along with her untied black shoelace. A flurry of crumpled papers and crushed soda cans bordered the curb of the street, smooth and obsidian from the lack of use. Only the very wealthy and trustworthy were allowed cars. Most of time, it was only utilities and work supplies that drove through the neighborhood.

Turning into an alleyway, she came across two taller boys. One of them had long brown hair, while the other donned a black crew cut. He held a faded red Frisbee in his hands.

"We really need to pick a better place to meet," she said.

The blonde boy grunted. "I thought you enjoyed meeting here."

Lizzie tilted her head. "Well, it's not like there's a park around here."

"Park? That only exists in those silly stories you read, Lizzie." The one with a crew cut said.

"You should tell jokes for a living, Matt. It will get you killed sooner." The blonde boy said.

"You're one to talk, Alec. Throw the Frisbee," Lizzie said as she started to walk towards the end of the alleyway.

Matt stepped back and leaned on the stonewall while Alec flung the disc. It wobbled through the stuffy air before bouncing in front of Lizzie.

She laughed. "A drunk pilot flying an airplane could have done better."

Alec rolled his eyes. "Like you're any better."

"Watch me." She said. Her hand went back, and she held the Frisbee with an iron grip. With a flourish, her arm extended forward and thrusted the disk forward.

It crashed onto the wall next to her and landed a few feet away.

Alec and Matt crackled in laughter. Lizzie huffed in frustration and kicked the Frisbee.

"That was a warm up," she said.

Suddenly, she heard a cough. She spun on her heels and looked at the end of the alleyway. Lizzie gingerly walked forward and scanned the area. It seemed clear of any person.

Another wheeze.

Lizzie looked underneath a large pile of cardboard boxes and dirt-infested wool blankets behind the dumpster. A middle-aged man with a five o'clock shadow and grime coating his cheeks lay underneath the cocoon of clutter. His tight brown shirt and tattered jeans were worn down to the fabric, which frayed at the edges of the clothing.

Lizzie looked up at Alec and Matt. She waved them forward. As they hustled towards her, she shook the man.

"Sir, are you alright," she said in a sweet, quiet voice.

The man woke up. He shot up to a seated position with a start and propelled himself backwards with his hands. When he noticed it was three teenagers, he relaxed his tense shoulders and slumped forward.

"Are you alright, sir? Who are you?" Lizzie said.

He looked up with a panicked expression. "Who are you? I don't have to answer."

Lizzie smiled. "It's okay. We won't report you or anything. It's not like we'd gain anything from that."

"I don't want to trust anybody."

"Come on, man. We won't do shit," Alec said.

Lizzie slowly moved her hand and placed on the man's dirty palm. She kneeled down and scooted forward. "Just start with your name. We can get food, but give us your name."

The man sighed. "I'm Edward."

"Any last name?"

"Polymer."

Lizzie frowned. "Okay. Interesting name. When was the last time you've eaten? Did you get kicked out of your house?"

"Lizzie, the guy is homeless. Why are you interrogating him?"

Lizzie huffed and whipped her head towards Matt. "Because I would like him to feel like a human being," she said while looking back at the balding man. "So, did you?"

"I'm not from here. I'm from Five."

Lizzie gasped. "Seriously? How did you get here? Are you on the run?"

"Lizzie, I don't want to help a fugitive."

"Shut up, Alec," Lizzie said. "People are fugitives now for littering."

The man sighed. "I am on the run. I'm from District Five. And I give up. Just turn me in."

Lizzie leaned forward. "Why?"

"Seriously. My name doesn't mean anything to you?"

Alec raised an eyebrow. "Egotistical, much? Are you supposed to be famous?"

"No, but my daughter is."

The man struggled to his feet. Lizzie grabbed his hand and hoisted him up while Edward's knees cracked. He straightened his clothes and stared at Lizzie.

"My family is gone. And it's because of the games."

"You're entire family was reaped?" Lizzie asked with an empathetic tone.

"Just one. Remember that girl in the last Games that flew to the edge of the arena?"

**Jason "Jace" Castellan-18**

Jason noticed that Grandpa Paul was not in a good mood. The old, short man was not angry by any stretch of his imagination, but his eyes were bloodshot, while the bags under his eyes seemed to grow larger and darker with every passing night of endless watching over his wife.

The humidifier hummed in the corner of the cramped kitchenette. All of the rooms held them since Grandma Jaclyn had returned. Jason and Grandpa Paul did it to not only make the house moist from the dry spell that plagued the urban summer, but they wanted to make her feel less alone.

Sitting by the hospital, Jason had his arms crossed over his black t-shirt and khaki shorts. The slightly skinny boy with cropped blonde hair paced around the loading dock of the small clinic.

Hearing footsteps on the pavement, he turned to see a boy with black hair and his same height trotting up towards him.

"Hey, Jace,"

"Oh, hi Mark. Just waiting for the load this week."

"Mind if I wait? My mom is griping about my smoking again."

"Sure, but don't blow it in my face again."

Mark and Jace sat on the edge of the loading dock. Jace stared ahead at the small peacekeeper center across the street. Men in white uniforms were mulling about as the preparations for the next day meant assignments to different locations.

"How's Grandma?" Mark asked.

Jace looked down at the ants crawling through the cracks of the asphalt. "She's not worse. But Grandpa is getting worse."

"And you think volunteering is going to help?"

Jace turned to Mark. "It's not like we're getting and farther by me finding a job. Nobody wants to hire an eighteen year old just out of high school. Every job, from cashier to shelf stocker, requires experience."

"But do they really, though?" Mark asked.

"I know," Jace said while he picked the random fabric on his pant leg. "That's just where we are. But I gotta keep calm."

"Cool and calm is all you try to be. Makes me wonder how you got any friends."

"Bonding over peacekeepers killing our parents?"

"I was thinking sharing crayons in first grade, but if you want to be pessimistic, that's fine."

"Have you gotten ready for it? Tomorrow, I mean?"

The Caucasian-skinned male scratched his head. "I've bulked up some with cylinder blocks. It's amazing what stacking them up can do for bench pressing."

"It's not like we have a gym around here."

"Definitely not a training center. And they call us nerds."

The double doors behind them busted open. A young nurse walked out with a brown box that clinked with every step he took in his black boots. The two boys stood up on the loading dock and approached the man.

"Same dosage as usual," Jace stated.

The nurse frowned. "It's down about four vials. Our supplies are running low as usual."

Jace sighed. "So I'm supposed to give her a smaller amount through the next week?"

"Do you know how much shit I could be in if I'm caught? Be grateful."

Jace snatched the box from the nurse's hands and turned away. "The money will be at your mailbox tomorrow. It's ten less."

"Why?"

Jace looked back at him. "Supplies are low. Coming?" He asked Mark.

He followed Jace as he carried the heavy box in his arms.

* * *

The town center was as dense as ever with tense teenagers and parents on the verge of tears. The Reapings made all the citizens rigid with fear. Death sentences had less finality than going into the Games for District Three.

Jace glanced at the end of the large mob. His grandfather his himself in the large crowd of families hoping their children came home for another meager dinner of processed bologna later that night.

The flies buzzed around their heads while the grey clouds hung, apart of the background like the stone high rises and factories pumping out sweat-soaked hard hats and lower wages.

The old lady in platform shoes and an orange blazer stepped up to the microphone. "Welcome, once again to this year's Hunger Games Reapings. I'm sure you are all tired of hearing about this, so let us move on with the show."

She reached into the giant glass bowl on her left side. Unfurling the slip of paper, she cleared her throat.

"Our first Tribute is Miss Lizzie Stratton."

Through the silent crowd, a large gasp drew attention to a girl with blonde hair and green eyes. She stood in a shocked freeze while the other females separated themselves from her as if she had an illness that they could catch if near her.

A Peacekeeper snuck up behind her and nudged her with his fists. She looked back at him with disdain before turning forward with a soft smile. She navigated through the people and walked up the steps towards the lady.

"On to the boys," she said.

She reached for the bowl and picked out a name.

"Our male tribute is Mister Mark Fischbach."

A loud, high-pitched yelp came from the eighteen-year-old section as the boy with a stubble and dark hair tried to run away from the stage. The Peacekeepers began to move forward.

"I volunteer."

The people froze in place as Jace moved through the shocked boys. His brown loafers clacked on the steps with every heavy stomp. The lady moved towards him and shoved the microphone in front of his face.

"What is your name, young man?"

Jace hoped that he could catch a glimpse of his grandfather, but he was still pushed away in the dark corners of the audience.

"I'm Jason Castellan, but you can call me Jace."

**Lizzie Stratton**

"Not you. I want to talk to you."

Lizzie's family stared at her pointed finger that aimed at Maxwell. They were leaving together through the door in the green-walled waiting room. It had been five minutes of sadness and hugging while the officials outside looked at their wristwatches, eager to shuffle Lizzie onto a train.

Maxwell shrugged and walked back towards Lizzie. The rest of the family continued through the door. Her father shut it gently.

The siblings stared at each other with blank expressions. The rumble of jeeps and marching Peacekeepers echoed through the thin walls.

Lizzie took a deep breath. "I need you to do something for me. And it's not because I trust you. It's because you're older, and you probably need more responsibility in your life."

Maxwell rolled his eyes. "What is it?"

Lizzie walked closer towards the side of his head where she could direct her voice into his ear. "I was told something by somebody yesterday. And I need you to make sure he stays okay. There might be a big change coming soon, and this guy might have something to do with it. The problem is that the people looking for him can't get here because it's too dangerous. When the games start, the guards will be distracted so they can get him out."

Maxwell stepped back and glared at Lizzie like she was a three-headed dragon. "Are you on morphine, little girl? What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Talk to Alec and Matt. They'll back me up. The alleyway is two blocks down from our house. Make sure he is okay and doesn't disappear. He has papers and an ID and everything. Take care of him. Bring him food and water and some nice clothes. Make sure no officers go into that alleyway."

Lizzie nudged her finger into his chest. "Listen. This might not mean much to you, but if half of what this guy said is true, things are going to change here very soon. I need you to trust me and go to him. He is the real deal, Maxwell. If I find out you didn't keep your promise and he disappeared, I'll make sure I come back just to kill you."

"I haven't promised anything."

Lizzie groaned. "Please, Maxwell. If there's one nice thing you can do before I go, it's that. I know it's risky, but it'll be worth every second if you just do what I say once."

Maxwell ran his fingers through his ruffled hair. He stared at her in contemplation. It was a completely random request, plunging him into something he did not know existed.

"I have no idea why this is important, but I'll do it. Just to humor you. And I won't tell anyone except Alec and Matt even though they annoy me."

"Thank you."

Maxwell turned and walked towards the door. He turned the silver door handle.

"I'm sorry."

Maxwell looked back at Lizzie. "For what?"

Lizzie shrugged. "I don't know. I felt like I needed to say that before I left."

Maxwell nodded. "If it makes you feel better, I'm sorry, too."

"For what?"

"Same reason."

He closed the door. Lizzie stood in place and hoped somebody would break her out and help her join the revolution she just found out about.

* * *

**Uh Oh! Am I sensing some reincorporation and continuity. Maybe. I'll let you all come up with your own conclusions. Let's just say that this is going somewhere.**

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	18. District 6 Reapings

**Tucker "Tuck" Obsidian (14)**

A quiet breeze ruffled the thin boy's brittle auburn hair. He leaned on the dry white brick hiding him from the few shoppers inside the pharmacy lucky to have a few dollars in their pockets. His green eyes were lowered while the small group of ants on the cracked sidewalk scurried on the sunbaked concrete.

A bell rang at the door. A boy at eye-level with Tuck walked out and patted him on the back.

"They didn't have any."

Tuck raised a bushy eyebrow. "Seriously? The food shortage has gotten that bad, Tack."

The brunette in front of him shrugged. "We can live without it for now. They make more ice cream."

The two boys turned around and walked down the quiet street. The hot air tightened their throats from the heavy air bearing down on them like the bombs the year before. Tuck shielded his green eyes from the midday sun while they turned into an alleyway.

"Maybe we should have stayed today. It is the last day before the Reapings."

Tuck looked over at Tack while the boy sat on the closed, metal dumpster hidden in the shadows of the narrow path. Tuck stood in front of the dumpster and looked at the

"What would they do today that's any different?"

"I don't know. You know all those stories where the kids stay out of school, but the school has some sort of carnival or party? What if that's happening to us?"

Tuck crossed his arms. "Then everyday would be a party."

Tack nodded. "No big deal."

Tuck looked out at the empty street. The concrete slabs had been displaced from the road. The heavy tanks and military jeeps had left their tire marks and worn the road down to a trail of broken rubble.

"Two years and nobody has decided to fix that fucking road."

Tack stared at the street. "Unlike you and your family, most people don't have cars."

Tuck narrowed his eyes. "Is that supposed to mean something?"

"No. I'm not at all suggesting that people are jealous of your family's wealth. Least of all, me."

Tuck noticed the new black and white sign on the front of the brick building. "What does that say?"

"Sound it out."

Tuck squinted at the sign. "I'm not sure. I think I'm actually getting worse at this as I get older."

"Dude, we're fourteen. Unless you're going blind, you'll get better. Just work through it."

Tuck groaned before looking back at the sign. "Uh…Je-Jero…. That next letter makes an 'ohm' sound, right?"

Tack nodded.

Tuck sighed. "Damn it. I'm done embarrassing myself. Just tell me what it says."

"You were doing good. What sound do those last two letters make?"

"Uh…'ome.'

"Put it together."

"What did I say before? 'Jero'?

"Yup."

"And 'ome' was last?"

"Yes. Put it together."

Tuck hopped up on the dumpster with Tack and sat next to him. He swung his thin legs and adjusted the collar on his green polo shirt.

"Jerome's?"

"Jerome's bakery. It's opening up tomorrow. Some guys showed up and started bringing in a bunch of stuff."

"Meet Jerome?"

Tack laughed. "Nope. Only saw a guy named Russell. They went down to the basement a lot, but get this. They put a bookcase in front of the door."

Tuck tilted his head. "A bookcase? Why would there be a bookcase in a bakery?"

Tack shrugged. 'Who knows? Maybe they're hiding something. How's Kia doing?"

"Still not going out with you. She's a little old for you, anyway."

Tack clasped his hands in a prayer position. "Please, Tuck. I need your sister."

Tuck slapped him on the shoulder. "It's not like I talk to her much. Or any of my family."

Tack nodded. "Still getting over the dyslexia thing?"

"Still in denial about it. I've basically ruined their dreams f a perfect family, so they're trying to make me into a model rich pussy before I get too old."

"But you still want to be the street rat I know and…."

"And what?"

"Nevermind."

**Greta Narcon (14)**

Greta never thought that she was an intimidating figure. To be fair, few fourteen-year-old girls strike any fear in others besides the awakened hormones in boys. Her sleek black hair and large brown eyes bore into the speakers of the crackling radio on the counter of the small living room.

In a rocking chair, she moved to the speech over the radio waves. Her four other sisters were on the yellow velvet couch opposite of her. The beige walls kept the yellow light from escaping the small window looking out from their fifth floor apartment building. The cold air blew from the rusting vents while her mother and father argued in the kitchenette behind an orange door. Greta did not care too much for designing, but even she cringed at the clashing colors in the tiny room.

"So with all that said, are the preparations ready?" A loud man said.

A soft, accented voice reached out to Greta. "You have to understand that Miss Quinn is not nearly as transparent as the other Gamemakers. Recent events have made us tighten those restrictions."

"Is that also in part from the Games themselves?"

"Yes. We can't allow the people to know about the Games until they happen. Because they'll be...er…too exciting. Everyone will love what Miss Quinn has done." Kirkland said.

"Now," Caesar said. "Tradition is that Presidents don't discuss the Games before the Reapings. Usually it is the Gamemaker that does all of this. What's up with the press tour?"

Kirkland cleared his throat. "There's been a lack of transparency that ha caused distrust from all circles of our country. If President Snow had been honest to the public about Katniss Everdeen and her motives, then we could have arrested her and found the Rebels in Thirteen easily."

"So you don't think your predecessor did a good job."

A gasp was heard. "What? Uh…no. That's not what I meant."

"But you just criticized him."

"No I didn't," Kirkland said quickly.

"Do you think President Kirkland is kind of nice?" Greta asked.

Rachel, her older sister, choked on the tap water she was sipping from a plastic brown cup. "Because killing twenty-four kids is really nice of him. I'm glad he decided not to kill twenty-five. Or everybody for that matter."

"But he doesn't seem like he even likes it. I mean, imagine if you came across him on the street. Wouldn't you like him?"

Rachel looked at the rest of her snoozing sisters. The Opps twins (Greta always forgot how they got that name) were asleep, and Margaret was in her last reaping, so she was busy moping in the girl's shared rooms.

"I guess he's kind of attractive. For a tw-."

"Ew, Rachel. I meant he seemed like a nice person. I didn't mean as a boyfriend. That's so gross."

"What? He's twenty-eight. A nine year difference is nothing nowadays. And why are you saying it's gross. Aren't you into boys yet?"

Greta's face reddened. "All the boys still make fart jokes and barely shower."

"It's not like shower water is that cheap, though."

"They smell bad, too."

Rachel walked over and patted Greta on her head. "It's okay. Soon, you'll think differently."

Rachel sat on the armrest of the creaking rocking chair and stroked Greta's hair. "Margaret is really nervous."

"I know."

"She'd have no chance in the Games. She's afraid of her own shadow. You might do okay, though. I could see you going completely insane and slaug-."

"I don't want to talk about it," Greta said as she blushed harder.

"It's just a joke. Stop being so serious."

The sisters listened to the old radio that went in and out of good signal. It was the rise and fall of static that made Greta slouch in relaxation.

"Do you think that people's perception of you will change after these Games?"

"I know so. The people want a leader that is strong, smart, and receptive to all factions. So I think people will like that?"

"Is that why you spoke to the Victor recently? Last time that happened, a civil war broke out."

Kirkland chuckled nervously. "Nothing like that. Me and Aslovee Chesed just want to show how unified this new age of Panem is."

"Now that's a fine specimen I would go to jail for." Rachel said with a laugh.

Greta frowned. "What? I don't get it."

"What don't you get? It's pretty obvious.

"You're going to kill the victor?"

Rachel giggled. "Think, Greta. I'm nineteen and he is seventeen. What's the age of legal consent here?"

"Eighteen."

Rachel grinned at Greta. Greta stared at her.

"Wait. So…."

Suddenly, Greta gasped. She whacked Rachel on her arm. "Stop that. It's so gross."

"One day you'll be right here with me, little sister."

Greta thought back to what Rachel said about Margaret. She was a complete nervous wreck. Her cheeks were swollen and had trails of dried salt streaming down her face. Greta adjusted the shoulder straps on her purple sundress and looked back at her sister. She had not spoken for over a day, and her brown hair was frazzled from the moisture on the dew-stroked grass poking out of the sidewalk cracks.

She wondered what she would do if Margaret was reaped. There have been instances where volunteers would go for their siblings, but they were all older than her. She had doubt that she could preform well in the Games anyway.

The books she read made death seem so casual. Considering all the death around her, would it be hard to kill someone? They were complete strangers. If there was no attachment, then there was no pain.

The fact that she had this thought scared her a little bit.

She still had no idea who she was. Fourteen was a time where she refused to think about building herself as an individual. There was nobody else to talk to about it. Rachel was gone many nights to some mystery house. Margaret was always quiet and the young twins would not understand her concerns. The only sound from her parents was the clattering of pans and slamming hands on the plywood counter in their kitchenette.

She held her head down while she filed through the long line into the female section. After the stinging finger prick, she hurried forward towards the middle of the crowd. There was a warmth and comfort for her in the middle.

The lady in a dark purple gown and crimson hat rose from her chair on the stone steps leading up to the town hall and tapped the microphone. "Thank you. Welcome to this year's Hunger games, everybody. Now, since you all saw the video, let's get to it."

The lady reached down a bony hand and snagged a piece of paper. She went back to the microphone with only the sound of her high heels hitting the stage surface.

"Our first tribute is Miss Greta Narcon."

Greta gasped and covered her mouth with her small palm. A number of girls tried to look away from her. Eyes shifted. They moved away from her like she was contaminated with a disease.

She felt a hard prod at the center of her back. Craning her head, a Peacekeeper kept pushing her forward. Her eyes stung and began to redden. Her throat was tough and dry like the dying shrubs lining the edge of the stone building she approached.

Gingerly walking up the steps, she moaned softly as she made it to the stage. Her escort gave her a quick hug and patted her on the head.

"Welcome aboard. Now, for our boys."

Another swish of paper.

"Our male tribute is Mister Tucker Obsidian."

A smaller, red-haired boy stiffened up in the crowd and blinked a few times. He stared, bewildered at the stage. As he heard the Peacekeeper's footsteps, he lurched forward and started to filter through the crowd. His mouth was agape as he climbed up the steps and met the escort.

He turned to Greta and looked her up and down. Greta tried to dry her eyes and scanned the crowd for her family to no avail.

She breathed harder. The air grew hotter. Her throat tightened to where she could barely feel any air travel to her lungs.

She felt completely alone and sad. Nobody would help her, and nobody would care about the little girl from Six.

Unless she made them care.

* * *

**Thank you ladies and gentleman. Welcome Back.**

**I want to apologize to all of you. After a whole school year, we have not even made it past the Reapings. I fear that I have lost the interest and respect of you, dear readers. I'm sorry that I am not the SYOT author that you deserve to have. As summer approaches, I promise that the once-a-month update status I appear to have will change. This SYOT will not take two years to complete is what I'm saying.**

**Make sure you do your part! Review! Get others to review! Even if it has nothing to do with the material in the chapter, find something to discuss. It gets you points and benefits me. Also, make sure to be constructive and specific. This is something that will benefit both of us. **

**Also, I have decided to add another opportunity at sponsor points. I am looking at guest co-writers for specific chapters. I would like to rewrite the fist chapter. I do not feel it is the best foot forward to start with, and I would like help for future chapters. The writing would not involve the Games or potential author's characters, so let me know! I would like all readers to be actively involved in the Games.**

**Thank you for staying with me. I will see you soon!**


	19. District 11 Reapings

**Adalena Farnahm (15)**

Blood splattered on her face as the meat cleaver dug into the tough meat. She battered the pork shoulder on the grease-stained brown counter with the cleaver. She grunted with every strong hit. The thud grew louder.

An older man with greying hair opened the door with a creak. He saw Adalena pounding the pork and walked to her like a trapper trying to not startle a deer.

He pulled down the silver chain hanging from the ceiling. A light bulb erupted into white light. Adalena made one more swing and shot her glare up to her dad.

"You got blood on your face."

Adalena wiped her cheeks and hazel eyes. She transplanted the blood onto the rag at the deep sink behind her. Her shoulder-length brown hair was frazzled and straggly from the wild motions. Her white tank top was wet with the staining liquid along with her baggy jeans.

"I saw Mesh again."

Her father sighed and leaned on the counter. "I know its hard to move on, but yo-."

"It's not about moving on, dad. It's about being honest. I don't get why he would break up with me for that."

"People don't normall take a liking to those that break their legs."

"But he's better now," she shouted. "And you know what he said to me after that? You're too rough. You're too rugged. All of a sudden, it's wrong to be me."

The older man pushed the pork shoulder aside and grimaced. "I think that meat is a little old."

"Dad! Focus."

"I get why your upset, but you need to be less rough on people."

"Why would you say that? Why can't I just be me without having to improve for other people?"

"Relax, Adalena. It's just constructive criticism."

"No, it's not," she said while pointing at him. "All your doing is tearing me down. You don't like the fact that I'm me. Everybody has to try and change me. It doesn't matter if you want me to improve. Stop talking about me like I'm some sort of burger that you can put salt on to make taste better."

Adalena looked over at the open door. Blood and uncooked meat sat in the cold backroom of the small butcher shop. Polished knives gleamed on the wooden rack next to a hung cow head.

"I'm heading out. I'll be back at around seven."

Adalena walked past her dad and almost smacked her shoulder to his side. She heard his soft sigh before slamming the metal door closed.

The humid, hot air smacked her as she jogged through the barren dirt road towards a smattering of trees. It was a small, isolated oasis of brush in the farmland plains. Sunlight passed through the short canopy of the pines and dotted the dirt like small fireflies.

The young girl jostled towards a hollowed-out tree and pushed her hand through the parched bark. She wrapped her small hands around the dull, warm metal inside. She pulled out a half-dozen knives and turned towards a tree bearing the stabs of previous angry outbursts. At least half of the base was covered in the scars.

A swish of a wrist added one more to the tree.

"Fuck you," she shouted when the knife hit the tree.

Another thud. "Fuck you."

Whack. "Fuck you, cornbread-snorting piece of shit."

She finished the last three in silence. The knives made a neat circle in the trunks. Two of them lodged into past marks and sunk deeper.

Adalena took a few heaving breaths. A light film of sweat grew on her brow. She walked forward and plucked the knives out of the bark.

She sat down on the small boulder next to the tree. Her hands wiped the sweat from the light grey circles underneath her eyes.

"Why do they make me alone?"

**Bean Crow (12)**

The young boy was a hyper fellow. His footsteps etched into the shifting dirt as he bounded forward. The small black child raced with the speed of the lazy ravens cutting through the sky.

His short curls bounced on his head as he reached the clearing and turned down a narrow pathway. In the middle of the plain was a small wooden shack with a brick chimney leaning over the tank of gas outside.

He trampled the rickety steps to the brown porch. Opening the screen door, he walked towards the hot stove where sizzling bacon popped.

"Did they have it?" His mother asked as she reached for a jug of water in the tiny icebox. The thin lady wore a thin white bed gown. Her hair was in a messy bun as the grease shot around the stove.

"No. He said there won't be anymore for another week."

His mom slammed the icebox shut. "Sirco. No cornbread for another week."

A rumbling exploded down the stairs and his dad, stocky and large, patted Bean on the head. "At least we got those carrots from yesterday. See Apple today Bean?"

"No sir," Bean said. "She's studying for a test next week."

Sirco sat down and wiped his wet brow. "Test, huh? Teaching about numbers, but not the real world? Isn't there something wrong with that, Briony?"

Bean's mother sighed and pointed at Bean. "That boy right there? He needs an education. It's not anyone's fault that you can barely speak. Let alone read."

"Woman," Sirco said in his deep voice. "I've been doing nothing but speaking for fifty years. If I didn't have to speak, I'd have more energy to work."

She laughed. "So I'm to blame for that?"

"Exactly. Isn't that right, son?"

Bean bounced on his feet. "I guess, but when in doubt, mom's right."

"And where'd you learn that?" He asked.

"Mom told me."

Briony smirked towards Sirco. The older man shrugged. "See what I mean? He'd never learn that in school.

The small boy climbed onto the shaky wooden chair. "How was the harvest?"

Sirco shrugged. "Fine. You should think about starting in a few years."

"Why? You both have jobs."

"You think they pay very well? Landowner gets the most."

Bean looked down at the red-and-white checkered table dressing. "I was just asking."

Sirco reached over with a massive hand and ruffled Bean's thick obsidian hair. "Calm down, son. You got to go to sleep early tonight anyway."

Bean nodded and walked towards the stairs. "Make sure to leave some flour for Apple's family. They need it."

"But you haven't had any yet," his mother said.

Bean shrugged. "I don't need it. They do."

* * *

Bean walked next to a girl whose head only reached the top of his thin eyebrows. She was a shade lighter in her brown completion. Her yellow miniskirt bounced with the stride of her thin legs on the broken concrete leading to the town square.

"Did your parents get the flour?"

His best friend, Apple, looked up towards him. "Yes. Thanks, by the way. They wouldn't have gotten it if it wasn't for you."

Bean smiled as they approached the cloud of people huddled by the finger-prick stations. He wiped his grin away. Turning towards Apple, he stretched his fist out. "See you at the mill?"

Apple fist bumped him. "Good luck."

The trip through the line was a short blur for Bean. His nails were chewed down to the dirt-coated nubs. It was his first Reapings, but he tried to take deep breaths. It was what his mother did whenever his father slammed the screen door whenever he entered the tiny wooden shack.

Sweat glistened off the young boy's black forehead. Bean shifted on his stubby toes hiding in worn brown shoes. The pen he was placed in was sparsely populated. There weren't that many twelve-year-old boys in the District.

The brown beard on the tall man stretched down to the violet necktie on his yellow latex suit. He snapped up the microphone stand while the mute audience stared. "Alright, everybody. Buckle up. Let's get down to business."

Bean gulped while the man looked down at the dust tickling the glass bowl filled with names on paper slips.

"Can't even clean it," he said with a grimace.

He grabbed a piece of paper.

"Our female tribute is Miss Adalena Farhnam."

A ripple moved through the crowd. A girl was jabbed forward by a Peacekeeper. She had a wide-eyed glare of frustration. Bean shivered with every shoulder she bumped through the journey towards the stage. He realized he was much smaller than him.

"Time for our male tribute."

Bean shook his head and looked at the black man on stage. He looked down at the dirty bowl and gently plucked another paper.

"Our male tribute is Mister Bean Crow."

Bean heard a loud wail from the back of the crowd. He turned, but the taller bodies behind him obscured the site of his crying mother. His father tried to push past the barrier of Peacekeepers but was held back.

Bean did not reach his senses until a hand jerked his arm forward. With the Peacekeeper's harsh pull, Bean's throat snapped into a loud scream.

He dug his shoes into the ground. He slid across the concrete and toppled over. The bulky man in the white uniform brought him up t his feet and yanked him forward.

More screaming. He screamed for his mother and father and friend and anybody that could poof him to his tiny wooden shack and brown fields where he could hide from the world in the tall cornstalks.

His parents struggled to move forward. Bean squinted his eyes while looking over the crowd. The lump in his parched throat threatened to explode again. He saw the cameras pointed at him and the imposing girl next to him.

He had no plan at this point. The girl would balk at working with a small creature like him. To her, this was a massive challenge, but a goal could be reached.

For the saccharine and sprightly boy, the Games were a sentence to the crime of being trapped in his own skin in District Eleven.

**Adalena Farnahm (15)**

Adalena rocked her lithe body on the leather couch. The rubbing brown material squeaked with every anxious movement. She kept her gaze pointed at her scuffed, mud-stained red sneakers. In front of her, her father wandered like a nervous fly in the butcher shop.

Her other four brothers were older than her. Demont was a bulky young man with dark brown eyes and a crew cut. Devon was quieter than the other sibling and was much more reserved. While his brothers sought after the roughhousing outdoor life, a book was as delicious to him. Finally, the two twins, Damon and Deval, had their arms crossed and scowled at her. They stood in front of the old velvet painting of President Snow.

Her dad coughed and shot a glance at the white grandfather clock in front of the orange wall. "I think you're leaving in a few."

Adalena looked up and huffed. "Really heartfelt, Dad. How about a 'goodbye' or 'I love you?'"

The four men turned towards each other. The twins frowned at their father. He sighd and rubbed his tan wrinkled forehead.

"We really don't want to say this now."

He trailed away and turned towards the window.

Adalena raised an eyebrow. "What? What is it?"

Demont groaned. "Just say it, dad."

"How? Go ahead and tell me how easy it is," he shouted.

Adalena jumped up. "What's wrong with all of you. You act like I have some sort of disease. Aren't you going to say goodbye? Won't you miss me?"

"No. We won't."

Adalena gasped and stared at Deval. The longhaired twin in a green polo shirt and slacks stepped closer to her. "We won't be."

"Don't say it like th-."

"Like what?" Deval shouted at his father. "There's no other way around it. If we don't say it now, then who cares?"

Adalena gave Deval a hard slap on his face. "How could you think anything like that? I'm going into the Hunger Games, and you say something stupid like that?" She asked before she looked at the half-circle of men surrounding her. "Are you just going to let him say that?"

Her father avoided her gaze. The older two boys shifted on their toes. However, Deval was joined by his twin as they stepped closer to her.

"We've been hiding it for fifteen years. We need to tell her." Damon said.

"What? Say it before I slap you, too." Adalena shouted.

Damon chuckled. "We've never liked you. Any of us. We've had to put up with you all by ourselves. No neighbors. No mother."

"Everyday, I wonder why Mom sacrificed herself for something like you," Devon said.

Adalena stepped back with her eyes wider than the oak wadrobe her father was huddled by in shame. She looked around at her other siblings who looked away from her like she would shock them into stone statues.

"Are you insane? Dad, aren't you going to tell them to shut up?"

Her dad stayed silent.

"Devon," she said while moving towards her second-oldest brother. "Why aren't you saying anything? Are you agreeing with them?"

Devon stared at Adalena.

Her throat felt dry. Back muscles tensed when she reached up to his sharp shoulders and grasped them. "You and dad taught me how to read. If it wasn't for you, I still wouldn't have finished those crossword puzzles."

Devon stepped back. His eyes were reddened and his figure was slumped in shame.

Adalena turned around. She raced to Demont. "You played with me everyday when I was younger. You taught me how to wrestle. Didn't you like that?"

Demont buried his face in his hands.

"Sorry, Addy." Devon said with a smirk. "But we thought now would be the best time to say this."

"Shut up," she shouted. She ran up to them and grabbed a fistful of the twin's shirts. A rough tug forward almost made them bump into each other. "Why are you doing this? We're a family."

"No we aren't," Damon said. "We haven't been since you killed mom."

Adalena squeezed the rough cloth with a vice grip. "She died giving birth to me."

"And what a poor choice somebody made. Taking her for some tomboy wannabe like you."

Adalena gasped out a cry. She pushed back the twins and backed her way to the door. The two brothers were smirking at her anguish. Demont shook with every harsh breath he took. Devon sat on the windowsill and looked down at the ground.

Finally, Adalena wiped her face and took a deep breath. Her father refused to look at her.

Then, she laughed.

All eyes locked onto her. The twins wiped their smirks away.

Adalena glared at the group. "Fifteen years. All down the drain, huh?" Well, let me tell you something."

She reached back and turned the golden doorknob. She kicked her heel into it. The door swung open, revealing the grey stone wall in the cold hallway.

"You think you're getting rid of me? I bet you wanted to se this as a way to give up. My family hates me, so why should I keep going. Guess what?"

She took another deep breath.

"You gave me just what I needed. And wait until I get back boys. Because mom left us for a reason, and it wasn't so I could see her at fifteen. You'll be begging to be my family when I'm on that train coming back to Eleven."

She backed up into the hallway.

"By the way, Demont got a girl knocked up. Found out about it last week. And Damon and Devon do a ton of morphine. I'd check their mattresses if I were you, dad."

She did not bother to look at their reactions. Adalena turned down the hallway to a waiting Peacekeeper.

* * *

**For some reason, this was an extremely hard chapter to get out. It could be because it was the last reaping. I'm not sure.**

**Oh, yeah. Guess what?**

**THE REAPINGS ARE OVER!**

**Thank you for staying this far. I've noticed that the number of views and reviews have fallen recently. I understand that things get in the way of enjoyment, but know that your support is incredibly important. If it wasn't for you all, I wouldn't be making this SYOT. **

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**Thank you for staying with me, and I look forward to enjoying your support. You give me the strength and will to move forward, and together, we can see, enjoy, and even make something excellent.**

**The fun stuff begins soon. See you then! Good luck!**


	20. Trainrides Part 1?

**Maiza Bluhurte (17)**

The leaking droplets of water ran down Maiza's chin. Her loud gulping interrupted the low hum of the traveling train through the empty meadow of talk grass blades and busy dragonflies. Her other hand dug into the black velvet on her chair. She slammed the glass down and wiped her mouth.

"Could you not throw that glass down? I'm getting a headache."

Maiza glared at the escort. "I don't give a shit," she shouted before looking down at the ground.

Tan loafers planted themselves on the blue carpet underneath her bare feet. She looked up at the grey-eyed, black haired boy obscuring the red cuckoo clock on the wall behind him.

"Maiza, right?" He asked softly.

She crossed her arms. "Not paying attention during the Reapings? Distracted about dying?"

He sighed. "We've been dealt a bad hand. Can we all just not yell at each other?"

Maiza stood up. She was a hair taller than the eighteen-year-old. "You're one to talk. You've been pacing like a drunk fly the whole time you've been here. You look like a drunk guy in a mental asylum."

"I'm sorry. I'm nervous. Like you."

"Who said I was nervous?"

He raised an eyebrow.

Maiza sat back down. Crossing her legs, she rolled her eyes. "Why do you care? It's not like we're important or anything like that. There's twenty-two other kids that'll suck the Capitol's cocks before this is over, so let's not kid ourselves. It's about the popularity game. That's what people want to see. I'm no pandering to anybody. End of story."

Emerson looked towards his despondent mentor.

"I know, but why does that mean we can't help each other? This is something that neither of us prepared for. I think people are going to notice that right away. The best chance we have is shocking them. How do we do that? We get a good score. To do that, we need to zero in at what we do best. Talents or skills."

"I don't have any. Why would I tell you? You'll just use it against me."

"Why do you think that I'll just flat out betray you? I have no reason to. It's not like I knew you before doing any of this."

Maiza scoffed. "Because I don't know you. I don't like you. And I'm too pissed off at everyone else to start liking you. You know how my parents got together? Because of me. They hate each other, but they only got married because of an accident. Why would they care so much about an accident unless it ruined their lives? They even scheduled my whole life for me. Nice, right? I'm supposed to find a husband by twenty-two and marry at twenty-four. Listen, whoever the fuck you are, I don't want to pair up with someone just to survive. "

The boy nodded and put his hand on the cool windowpane. "But I'm not your parents. We don't have that choice to make any accidents, either. If we do make one, we die."

The boy's words jumbled through Maiza's head. The train was about to enter a long tunnel. The growing amount of pines next to them hinted at the end of the clearing. It reminded Maiza of the river she swam in. It reminded her of the lost pebbles skipping through the water next to her brother. It reminded her of her two younger sisters having breathing contests in the murky, cool oasis. The snapshots in her mind were blurred now. The Games were placed over them like a broken lens.

The empty glass next to her toppled as she shot to her feet. He took a step back.

"If you really want to pair up, none of this fake shit from those other tributes. It's business and survival. I be me, and you be you."

He nodded. "Can I tell you my name, though?"

Maiza smirked. "Nope. I'll just go the whole games without knowing it."

"That's going to make communicating in the arena tough."

"I'm sure I'll come up with a nickname. Is that okay with you, Emerson?"

Emerson dared to grin as the train entered through the shadow of the smothering tunnel.

**Augustus "Gus" Vestus (15)**

Gus looked outside the immaculate window while he whizzed past the grey face of the cliffs hugging the train tracks. Standing straight as the hands on the grandfather clock in the corner, his breath coated the frigid glass. His black combat boots fit tight onto his ankles while the brown jacket hung from his sloped shoulders.

"Dude, you haven't said two words to me since we got on here."

Gus turned with his arms crossed to face the older girl sitting on the glass table. Her blue-green eyes widened as they stared at each other.

"So?"

Ayden rolled her eyes. "At least pretend to be excited. We're going to the Capitol. Stop being such a Debby Downer."

Gus frowned. "You're not concerned at all?"

"Psh. About the Games? I've been ready for this the moment I was born. I have my strategies down. Why would I be nervous?"

Ayden patted Gus on the shoulder. "Calm down, kid. You'll make it far enough."

Gus brushed away Ayden's cold hand. "I'm fifteen, and I suggest you focus on what you'll do. Otherwise, I don't need you to lug around."

Ayden laughed. "Seriously, kid? Just because you scored high back home doesn't mean shit. Especially with everything handed to you on a silver platter."

Gus clenched his fists by his side. "I'm not the one dying my hair blonde to appeal to more people."

"How did you know it was dyed?"

"Didn't. But I guess I do now."

Ayden reached out and grabbed a fistful of Gus's white collared shirt. "Listen to me."

"Don't spit on me. Do you rich people not brush your teeth?"

"You won't ruin this for me. This is my time to have the party of my life, and it's gonna be before the biggest challenge I've faced. If I'm going to make a good impression and actually have fun doing this shit, I need you to get out of my way or shut up."

"Right. Because the Games are the party that never stops, right? Think you can keep it going for more than two days?"

Ayden let go of him and examined the shorter boy. "Maybe I'm being to high strung," she said. She turned on her barefooted heels and grabbed a chilled brown bottle. "Want some?"

Gus shook his head. "You're going to drink?"

She shrugged. "My tolerance is pretty good."

Ayden plopped into the white leather sofa and put her feet on the stainless steel coffee table. "Let me give you a tip, kid. When someone offers you alcohol, take it. It's the only way someone like you will make friends."

The train rumbled through a thick greenway. The forest canopy shielded the silver bullet train from the high summer sun. The leaves shook and danced through the moist air from the brushing wind the train created. It amazed Gus that all the furniture and expensive glass cups never fell over from the train ride.

"Did you have any friends?"

Ayden placed her drink on a mahogany coaster. "Is that supposed to be funny?"

"No. I'm serious. Do I look like a guy that jokes a lot?"

Ayden sighed. "I had fr-have friends. I never got really close to people, but I don't need to do that. I like to bounce around to different people. It gives me a little taste of everything the world has to offer. I can't help it if people come to my place. I have kickass parties there. I can't help it if I'm the District Center for gossip. Its fun to popular, even if no one really likes you."

"So no real friends."

Ayden took a swig of her alcohol. "Why are you interrogating me? Aren't you going to ask about strategies?" She asked sarcastically.

Gus considered the wild girl in front of him. She played the part of a loose party animal well. However, he internally grimaced because he doubted the girl was smart enough to play any role other than her own. She was as stale and hard-headed as the welfare bread the Peacekeepers passed out to the slackers in the streets. That's why they were homeless and poor.

"They aren't equal enough be on our same level."

"What?"

Gus looked up from the floor to a confused Ayden.

"Uh…never mind. Just thinking out loud."

"Not as disciplined as I thought," she said with a chuckle.

"You won't be either when you find out there's no cash bar in the arena."

**Triton St. Pierre (16)**

"With all do respect, ma'am, I'm tired."

Annie Cresta raised an eyebrow as she stood in front of the television. "Are you sure? We're not going to be able to do this when we get there?"

"I know, ma'am. Sadly, I've indulged in your victory many times."

She giggled. "I guess being the only victor from Four in thirty years does something to you."

Triton frowned. "But what about Finni-."

A hand slapped Triton's shoulder. "Finishing the rest of these Games," Kerri Wakai finished.

Annie shrugged. Fie. I'll leave you two alone. When you're done, do what you want. The Capitol is waiting, friends."

She sashayed out of the small viewing room. Kerri made sure the sliding door was locked before shoving Triton on the opposite side of the orange sofa.

"Are you insane? What was the first thing they told us before we got on this train?"

Triton rubbed his shoulder. "I'm sorry. It was a slip of the tongue. It's not like he died a long time ago, either."

Kerri scoffed. "That's none of our business. Do you think anybody is going to help us if our only mentor suddenly remembered what happened to her? You really think she'll be okay after that?"

Triton brushed his spiky blonde hair back. "It's fine for now. She doesn't remember."

"But the Capitol does. And everybody else does," Kerri said as she stood up. She started to pace the room like a trapped ant. "We still haven't figured out what we're going to do."

Triton grimaced from the forming bruise on his shoulder. "The pack."

Kerri crossed her arms. "The pack isn't as strong as we thought. Remember last year? Those outer District idiots were stronger and smarter. Hell, the Victor was from Nine. And second place was from Seven. The only one of us that finished respectfully was that rapist."

"He didn't actually rape anybody."

Kerri grinded her teeth. "The point is that we have a lot to overcome. Athletically, I like to think I'm okay. You can play the crowd game for us."

Triton shifted in his seat. "I don't know if I'm that comfortable doing that."

"Why not?" Kerri asked quietly.

"I have a girlfriend, and that's just not me. I don't want to be fake."

Kerri groaned. "Jesus Christ, I'm asking you to be interesting. I don't want you to be a man-whore. Although that might be a tradition for Four males now."

Triton stammered. "I don't want that, either. I just want us o survive. Can we go back to that?"

Kerri pressed play on the flat screen television mounted to the red wall. She sat down next to Triton as they saw Annie squeezing water from a vine.

"By the way, if you do anything like he did last year, I'll personally slit your throat."

"I won't," Triton said quickly.

The two tributes examined the younger Annie Cresta squeeze he small droplets from the green vines. The crunching leaves under her feet emitted the only sound is from the room.

"What's a Jesus Christ?"

Kerri looked at Triton. "What?"

"You said 'Jesus Christ; and some other stuff while you were yelling. Is that a curse word or phrase."

Kerri blushed. "For some people, it is."

"So if someone pisses me off, I can shout out 'Jesus Christ' at them? Is that just a Capitol thing?"

"No. Nobody can know you know those two words. That's a…codeword for emergencies from now on."

Triton smiled and winked. "Gotcha."

* * *

Uh Oh. An OOC brainwashed canon character! What does this mean?

First off, I would like to thank all of you. After a number of months and chapters, we have made it through the Reapings. I want to take this time to stress the importance of what I am trying to do for you all. When I started this SYOT, I did not expect it to be as quick as the one last summer. I am now working quite a bit, and studying for the GRE takes time as well. However, that is no excuse for the commitment I made to all of you to make an SYOT that was unique, creative, engrossing, and efficient with updates. Too many fics die with a whimper, and I want this SYOT to end on our terms with a bang.

I want you all to tell me whether you care to see that ending or not. You're support and coaxing is more important than ever. Without it, I will have no reason to continue. These are your characters. Your creations, and they are in my hands. If you care about them, please review, favorite, follow, and don't be afraid provide suggestions for characters or story.

Make sure to pass along this fic to somebody else to get sponsor points. Anything from the suggested sponsor point list is appreciated.

I need to know if the demand is enough. Without you, this is in vain. I will never hold your character's fate hostage if you neglect to review. However, reviewing is key not necessarily for your characters fate, but for the fate of the SYOT and it's completion. It's hard to have a reading commitment to a lengthy buildup that lasted a whole school year just as hard as it is to have a writing commitment. However, the time to stick together and enjoy something fun and interactive while make all of this effort worthwhile.

As I write this at 4 A.M, I must once again say thank you. Keep up the wonderful work.

Also, should I do one more train chapter? Should I just skip to training? Like any characters so far? Let me know!

See you soon. Thank you.


	21. Trainrides Part 2

**Cierro Opere (17)-District 1**

Cierro looked down at the gravy-drowned roast beef digging into the cloud of mashed potatoes on the golden china. She knocked around the pearly cauliflower with her silver fork as a long-haired man with golden eyelashes sat in front of her at the wooden table. The sun had just risen above the giant mountains surrounding them poking the low clouds. The train whirled past and formed a blur of grey stone and blue river streaming downhill from the Capitol district.

"What we need is to bring back the Career culture into these Games," the mentor said in a high-pitched squeal. "To do that, You two need to prove especially useful. The others last year had no great skills. With that said, I've watched both of you for a while."

"I can only imagine what you do during that time," Erik Scall said with a grimace.

Cierro frowned and looked up at the blonde-haired teenager. "Was that a joke?"

Erik looked at the glum girl. "What was a joke?"

She shrugged her shoulders.

The mentor took a quick swig of cranberry juice and licked his lips. "We need likability. And we need it from both of you. Erik, say something to me."

Erik balked. "Say what?"

"Just something. Enchant me."

"Can't you ask Cierro to do that?" He asked.

Cierro held her palm out. "I'm thinking about strategy. Leave me alone."

"No you're not," Erik said loudly.

The mentor slammed his fists onto the table, shaking the cranberry juice in the tall glasses. "Somebody do something. We don't have much time. The moment you get off this train, everyone will be watching you."

Cierro put a finger up to her lips to quiet the aggravated man. "I don't have much to say. Erik?"

Erik cleared his throat. "Well, I'm Erik Scall. I've been training for twelve ye-."

Cierro stopped Erik. "Who cares?"

The mentor snapped his fingers. "Exactly. They're Tributes that have been training since they were in their mom's placenta. I doubt you're any different. Give me something. Cierro, judge for me."

Erik sighed. "I'm decent with swords and I can read people we-."

"Boring. I can read people, too." The mentor said. "Isn't there something unique about you?"

Erik's cheeks started to burn with a light tinge of pink. "What else can I say? I went to school, I trained, I go home, and my dad ignores me. I'm trying my best here."

"Any friends?"

Cierro rolled her eyes. "He had plenty of friends. Everybody knows him at the Center."

The older man raised an eyebrow. "Okay, then we'll use that. You two can be allies, and Cierro can ride off of your popularity."

Cierro rubbed her crooked nose and stared at Erik. "You're not cut out for this, are you?"

Erik balked. "What's that mean? I've been training since I was a kid."

"Everyone has a game plan until they have a knife in their throat."

"I'm as ready as anyone else. I saw you a few times, and you did great. Why are you being so negative?" Erik asked.

"Why are you so nervous?" She asked. "If you're so prepared, why are we still arguing?"

"You're a good tribute," Erik said quietly. "But we need to make friends to get anywhere. You know why? Because every time somebody tries to do things alone, they get killed. Everyone else knocks them down. If you don't belong to a group, you don't exist to other people. That's why I work so hard for my friends. Cierro, we need to help each other and the others. Otherwise, nobody gets out of this."

Cierro crossed her long legs as the train rumbled further through the lowering sun. Most of the Career packs splintered out before they reached even the final eight tributes. The issue would be creating any progressive pack to reach a victory point. She feared that Erik was actually looking for a bond between them.

Erik sighed. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have blown up like that."

The tall, blue-eyed teenager stood up and stretched. He shuffled over the carpet towards his bedroom. "Could you wake me up before we get there?"

Cierro nodded. "Yeah. Make sure you gel your hair a bit more. I know you've been worried about that."

Erik chuckled. "You overheard me on the track?"

"No. I just assumed."

Erik smiled. "My girlfriend at the time was telling me to use it more. So I did."

Cierro raised an eyebrow. "How'd that work out for you."

He looked down like he was examining the particles of dirt on his scuffed shoes. "When I was a kid, my mom didn't want me to be in the Games. She said that making friends was more important. She wanted me to be more social. I guess that's why I put so much importance on it."

"So you value yourself based on how many friends you have?"

"It's that or value myself by how much I bench press or how many abs I have. And trust me, they're people that actually do that."

"What douchebags." She said in a monotone voice.

Erik laughed softly. "I guess it takes one to know one."

Cierro leapt to her feet. "You're saying I'm a douchebag?"

Erik gasped. "No! I meant other people. People like me and the other careers. Wait, I-I mean the Careers in the past. I'm sure this year's Careers are strong and humble and will win."

Cierro rolled her eyes. "It's fine. I'll wake you up."

Erik blushed again while he walked into his room and closed the door.

"He's totally gay, you know."

She heard her mentor choke on the cranberry juice. "Why the hell would you say that?"

"It takes one to know one." She said with a shrug.

**Larissa Savoy (15)-District 7**

The pink hair matched the explosion of colors from the dusk hovering over the city as it bounced down the walkway of the train station. The teenage boy walked on red platform shoes while he adjusted the polka-dot tie in his red vest. The tall, grey buildings twinkled with the ignition of warm apartment lights and office cubicle desk lamps.

With a gentle stop, Larissa pushed open the limousine door and hopped out of the stuffy leather coffin. Her District Partner climbed out behind her. Xenophon frowned as a freckled, brown-haired man with pockmarks on his face popped open the trunk and started to lift out an antique store's worth of baggage.

"The guy doesn't need to bring the whole District with him," he said. "He barely stays in Seven anyway."

Larissa silently nodded. "Our hotel."

The black monolith's windows were one-way sheets of glass. The entire exterior paled next to the lighter skyscrapers dotting the city horizon. It was a black hole in the center of the city; a pillar that swallowed up its occupants and spat them out in a jumble of nerves entering the arena.

Their mentor prodded them forward through the glass doors. The lobby was a museum of white marble invading the floor and walls. The ceiling reached up to the glass top of the atrium showing the rest of the building reaching into the sky. In the limestone behind the main counter, the Panem flag hung over with an observant eye over the large expanse of the empty lobby. Only tributes could use it this time of year.

"Marble, huh? Wonder how many 'volunteers' that took?" Xenophon said snidely.

Larissa glanced at him. "Could you not get us killed?"

Xenephon ticked. "You think they give a shit if we say anything like that? That's the problem with Panem. It's just spend, spend, spend. How are we going to spend what we don't have?"

The trio entered the elevator. The rising sarcophagus squealed as the hydraulics pushed it up through the dark elevator shaft.

"That's none of your business, kid?" The man said to him.

Xenophon crossed his arms. "It actually is. Do you know why we can spend so much and owe nothing? Because we print money out of thin air. That's it."

The red electronic sign beeped with every passing floor. Larissa bit her lip. "So how do you expect that to help us in the Games?"

He scoffed. "The Games? They might as well cancel it, because there's nobody to pay for it. They tax us into oblivion, and then they try steal anything we make. In fact, if you read a newspaper for once in your life, you'd notice that Kirkland signed a tax on stamps. Fucking stamps! Like we even mail anything to anybody now."

Larissa felt like the elevator was actually slowing down just so Xenophon can vent. She felt her eyes water in anxiety.

"The justice system doesn't exist here. We live under Marshal Law. If the court or Kirkland says something is right, it's right. End of story."

The mentor rubbed his forehead. "You complaining about this won't solve anything. Guess what? That money that you says comes out of thin air could save your life in a few days."

Larissa turned towards the fuming blonde-haired male. He was a hair shorter than her. "I'm sure what your saying is really important, but nobody cares right now."

"Why not? This country's financial health is at stake, and all you're worried about is if you'll survive something that is probably inevitable to happen."

"You're saying I'm going to die?"

Xenophon took a deep breath and balled his hands into tight fists. "No, I'm not. I'm just saying that it would suit everyone better if they listened to me. Do you know anything about inedible plants?"

"What? No, but I-."

"How about using arrowheads for fishing?"

"I wasn't really fishing much back i-."

"Starting a fire?"

"You made your po-."

Recovering from a broken leg?"

"Chokeholds to snap necks?"

"There's a book on that?"

Xenophon glared at her. "There's an answer to everything if you open your eyes and stop brainwashing yourself," he said with a grin. "They're teaching us what to think, not how to think. And that's how they keep us prisoner."

"Stop this. That's treason talk," the mentor shouted. "I don't care how smart you are? You think Peeta Mellark was smart?"

"No, but his hormones apparently were," Xenophone chided.

"You're insane. You'll get us blasted off of Earth if you talk like those revolution idiots. Shut up before we all get arrested."

Xenophon frowned. "Do you realize I may be here only one time? What if I do die? Anything I'm thinking will just erode with my body or whatever the hell they do to those. I need to say what everyone is thinking; otherwise we'll just be a majority with a minority mind. Isn't that something that should be given to us? A right to actually say what we mean? Or is that too revolutionary of an idea?"

Larissa felt sweat glisten at her hairline while the two males bickered. Xenophon was getting annoying already, and his mentor was making things a lot more uncomfortable in the tense elevator. The walls were already close enough to her without strangling her. She felt her throat tighten with her chest. Her heart kept working into overdrive as the elevator crawled up the building.

Finally, the doors slid open. Larissa almost collapsed into the grey-walled hallway. She hit a pillar with a flowerpot, but she hunched over to regain her breath.

She felt a hand on her back. "Relax. What's wrong?"

She looked up at her mentor. "He irritated me."

Xenophon balked. "Seriously? Because I'm right and your wrong? Way to prove sexist stereotypes correct."

The mentor shot him a crude look.

Xenophon sauntered towards the doors of their living arrangements. "The truth hurts, doesn't it. Like getting burned by fire. Tell me if you figured out how to heal yourself from that."

Larissa felt annoyed, but she was glad to be out. Ultimately, she was worried she had alienated Xenophon already. She was a loner, but going through the Games by herself was the last thing she wanted (other than dying). He was an arrogant, conceited know-it-all.

He was all she had, but he seemed like he didn't need her.

She had to prove her worth to somebody, or these Games would be over with the first footstep beyond the mine platforms.

* * *

**Thank you for your patience once again. I appreciate all of you.**

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Who will be the first Republican candidate to drop out of the 2016 U.S. Presidential Race?

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	22. Training Day 1: Still Not Doing Chariots

**Bruce Willysium (17)-District 10**

The freckled boy sneered at the row of white uniformed Peacekeepers mulling around the long dark grey hallway. The air was stiff, permeated with untouched plastic waiting in the Training Center for use. Bruce shoved his hands into the silk pockets of his black sweatpants and walked with confidence towards the small glass door. His basil eyes absorbed the harsh fluorescent lights swinging above him.

He groaned when he heard rushed footsteps skittering across the steel floor.

"Wait up," he heard a low female voice shout.

Bruce turned around and leaned on the door, blocking Sylvia's way.

"I think we should talk to Three first." She said.

Bruce stared at the scrawny girl with sharply-cut black hair. "Listen. If I wanted a bitch to follow me around, I would have brought a dog."

"Jeez, I would slap you right now, but that would be animal abuse."

Bruce glared at her. "Shut up. I'll team up with other people. You're not going to work."

"And why is that?" Sylvia asked as she crossed her arms.

"Because you look like you're as strong as my sick mom."

"She's still sick from having you? You were probably born on a highway."

Bruce frowned. "What?"

"A highway. Because that's where accidents happen."

Bruce balled up his hands into fists and waved them at Sylvia. "I'm giving you one warning to not talk to me that way."

Bruce turned to opened the door, but he felt a tug at his shoulder.

"I was just kidding. I thought you had a sense of humor. You act like it's the end of the world," She said.

Bruce brushed her hand of and opened the door. Sylvia followed him into the small glass break room. There was a window looking out into the training center. The air conditioning fueled the room from the vibrating vents on the red wall. Through anther glass door next to the bay window, the giant hangar known as the training center awaited.

For Bruce, it was the long violet tables that reminded him of his school cafeteria. The tables were great for sneaking his stash of morphine through the students of District Ten. They were all a bunch of useless idiots, he thought.

He did not want to say that he was completely unafraid of dying. In fact, judging from the Games in the past, it seemed like Bruce would fit at home with the dominating, bullying crowd that seemed to always appear in the Games. However, most of his classmates were so timid in food-strapped Ten that he had never encountered a real fight or challenge. He was decent, if not, clumsy on his feet. He certainly had enough muscle to throw a number of punches.

So what if he barely knew multiplication and division? These things weren't important now.

Bruce stepped forward and felt the frigid metal of the glass door into the gym.

"Are you going to ignore me? Seriously? You think you're going to make any allies in here like that?" Sylvia asked incredulously?

Bruce smirked. "I'd rather work by myself."

He stared out at the other tributes. He imagined the scowl on his little sisters faces and his mothers blank stare. He remembered his father's body twitching in the blood from his cracked skull. The Peacekeeper's stare. His funeral. For some reason, it made him smile wider.

**Triton St. Pierre (17)-District 4**

The air raced out of Triton's lungs with the impact of his back on the plastic mat. His lean frame crushed the foam sword underneath him while he clutched his ribs. Spots in his eyes eradicated after he caught his breathe and focused on the bright lighting above him.

He tilted his head upward and saw a shorter, black haired girl approach her. "Be more balanced next time."

"That's what you said last time."

Kerri Wakai adjusted the tight collar on her dark red training shirt. "Try eating cauliflower before you start fighting."

Triton massaged his neck. "What?"

"Cauliflower. IT's supposed to help you balance better."

"Sorry, Kerri. I don't think there will be much cauliflower in the arena."

Kerri turned towards the plant section. Another kid around her height was hunched over a keyboard with a large holographic screen behind it. Pictures of poisonous plants zoomed through the screen as the boy scanned the herbs and flowers.

"Speaking of vegetables, I'm going to try and do something other Careers have never done before."

Triton sat up and scrunched his legs up to his chest. "Like what?"

"Use my brain," she said as she trotted towards the plant area.

Triton looked down at his black sneakers. He played with the thin aglets around the laces. His stomach had been bothering him for a while. He was distracted from the long trip. Up until he entered the training center, Kerri kept grilling him about trusting her or dying and further plans to make an actual team with the other tributes. Triton was preoccupied with his own doubt. He liked to think he was lighthearted and fun, but killing someone was never on his agenda. Even with the Games on the horizon, those mornings of lying on the small white wooden boat in the ocean as the sun sneaked past the water's infinite edge lulled him into a belief that the Games would never come.

He had only been preparing to volunteer his entire life.

He missed Azalea. His girlfriend new the stakes, but she knew the little scrawny boy that threw an earthworm from a tackle box at her was grown to be a Victor. Her face made his back tense up from the pressure of survival. He would never forgive himself if his own loyalty to her and others were wiped away because lightening zapped him or he stumbled off a random cliff.

A shadow fell over his sneakers.

He looked up to the tall figure of a Tribute with emerald eyes slightly darker than his own and brown hair also a few shades darker than his sun-tanned blonde. The more muscular guy wore a soft smile and reached his hand out.

"Can't do much if you're hurt already?" He said.

Triton grabbed his hand and groaned with the creak of his legs locked back in a standing position. The guy before him was slightly bulkier and taller than him.

"Was she from Four, too?" He asked.

Triton scratched his head. "Kerri? We've been training together for a while. She's kind of a prodigy."

He chuckled. "Most of us are. Otherwise, we wouldn't be here."

Triton noticed a small blush on the Caucasian male's face. He also noticed the Tribute's eyes did not meet his.

"Your name?" Triton asked.

He gasped. "I'm so out of it right now. I'm Erik from One."

Triton smiled. "Cool. Triton."

"That doesn't sound like a Four name at all."

Triton shrugged. "What can you do? We're all stereotypes of someone else."

Erik looked back towards the large back wall of the Training Center. It had a number of ropes with tight harnesses hanging off of them. Misshapen knobs were bolted into the jagged edges of the ebony rubber.

"So…," he said. "Me and my District Partner were going to try rock climbing, but she ran off to the shooting range."

"The gun one? Or arrows."

"The guns."

"Which is weird. When was the last time a gun was used in the Games?"

Erik laughed. "Who cares? Point is, I need someone to spot the rope while I climb up. The workers here are on break, but I want a head start."

Triton felt much more at ease in the presence of the gentle-faced Career. The best connection he could make with anybody, the better. It would be the most surefire way to get back home to Azalea.

The two Tributes walked together towards the rock wall climb.

**Petunia Arkgrime (16)- District 12**

"Petunia, we're not going to be that intimidating if your trying t rip my arm off."

Petunia latched herself onto her twin brother's right arm. She grinned and looked towards him while they traversed through the wilderness section of the training center. "Sorry, big brother. But what if you trip and fall. Now, I'll be able to keep you up."

Foster wiped some sweat from his brow. "If I die from a trip, I'd most likely have it coming. And you're starting to cut off my blood circulation."

Petunia faked an angry expression and let go of him. "Fine. So should you start with the fire first?"

Foster crossed his arms and touched his smooth chin, still untouched from a razor blade. "Doesn't matter. If we stick together long enough, just one of us needs to do that. We need one watching behind us at all times."

"That's fine. I like watching behind."

Foster looked at the back of his sister's head as she turned around and looked through the thick mold-green foliage. The pointed ferns and kudzu-infested decaying trees were supposed to simulate a rainforest of some kind. Petunia thought that the sections of the training center were either too broad or too specific. The chances of them being in a rainforest, considering it happened for the last Quarter Quell, were very small.

She felt warmer from the fact that Foster was behind her. The gentle squeeze he gave her hand or the gentle touch from his candle-making hands gave her a lot of comfort from the coldness of the Games. Twelve was already kind of like survival to her anyway. She had to work her way through the snakey and evil people of Twelve, the ones that tried to separate her from Foster like his girlfriend. Her illness was just a blessing in disguise.

Petunia had Foster to herself from here until the end.

The end scared her less as long as he was there.

There was always the faint hope that the Capitol wouldn't kill of a sibling pair. Petunia hoped it could happen. Sponsors would take pity on the poor, starving, and adorable twins from Twelve and help them survive. Foster would protect her, and she would protect Foster.

Not to mention, Foster deserved much better than what he got at home. Gilda was a whore through and through. His friends were a bunch of insensitive, stupid vultures who milled around the entrance to the Seam. Even those girls that she would consider friends were pointless. The only thing that mattered to her was the boy muttering curses under his breathe as the sparks smoldered from the stick and rock contraption he used to make fire.

Foster flinched when he felt Petunia's cold hands on his. He dropped the stick and looked towards her while she grinned and leaned in. Their shoulders grazed each other's while Petunia picked the stick back up. She placed it next to the rock.

"I thought we could make a fire together," she said while joining her and Foster's grip to the stick.

"But I sai-."

Petunia hushed him. "Don't worry. Let's make the fire and move on."

Foster frowned and backed away slightly from his twin.

She inched closer to him as they spun the stick faster.

The moment was sliced through with a knife as it plunged into the dirt by the stick.

Foster shot to his feet and stood in front of Petunia. She huddled behind him and looked out towards the brush.

The most noticeable thing besides the ice-blue eye he had was the eyepatch covering the left socket. He had a small film of sweat over his tousled blonde hair. A wide smile followed a quick chuckle as the lean boy approached them.

"Guess someone dropped the ball when they decided to put the knives by the fire area, am I right?"

Foster narrowed his eyes at the boy and moved towards Petunia's side. "Who are you?"

He leaned on a tree. "Leslaw. Pleased to meet you two. By the way, if you want to make a fire, try using glass and the sun. It lights up leaves like a match."

"Where the hell would we get glass," Petunia said.

Leslaw laughed. "Oops. Guess you shouldn't have worn your contacts on your trip to the Games."

The weird boy kneeled down. He plucked out the dull knife from the ground. "They don't make these like they used to. Oh well."

He turned around and began to climb through the underbrush. "By the way, I'll be around here all day today. Let me know if you want a chance to actually win this shit."

Leslaw left and disappeared through the closed hole in the makeshift forest.

Foster glanced at Petunia. "Was he serious? Should we think about it?"

She huffed. "No. You really think some disabled guy like that will get us anywhere."

Foster looked down. "Just a thought. Trusting someone to get us far might not be all that bad."

Petunia cupped Foster's chin and forced him to look at her. "No way. Nobody gets between us. He'll stab both of us in the back. End of story," she said with a glimmer of anger in her eyes. "

They stared at each other. Petunia felt empowered with every ounce of Foster's resolve fading away like the dying sparks on the ground. She was getting more control, and that was the only other thing she needed in her life besides Foster at her side. They heard a few groans and shouts with crashing metal from the rest of the Training Center. The area had a flat ceiling that allowed for a loud echo. It was the only solace Foster had from an increasingly awkward moment.

Suddenly, Petunia's face softened and she smiled. "Let's get that fire going."

Petunia felt happy. The last place she thought she would feel that was in a small corner of the giant gym with twenty-four Tributes gearing up for the fight of their lives.

* * *

**Thank you to all of those that have reviewed, and to those that have not, please do! It takes little time, and it is crucial to me not only for improvement, but for inspiration and motivation!**

**Also, keep looking at the Sponsor list for ways to get points. Point inflation will occur, so start stocking up now!**

**Platrium asked**

_**Can you give me an opinion of English?**_

They say english is one of the toughest languages to know, and these people are correct. There are no real patterns or set rules in english. Or maybe there are to many patterns and set rules. However, it is the most used, so learning it is somewhat important. The amount of dialects, different vowel and consonants sounds, and flat out weird pronunciation for things (I'm still not sure how to say _pecan_) is ridiculous, but I find it rewarding and cool to have reached this level of proficiency. Of course, your reviews make this possible.

**Grandvizier527 asked:**

_**What do you think of the confederate flag issue?**_

I am strictly against racism and discrimination. I think the correct decision is to take the flag down. However, I am also vehemently against hypocrisy. I think the way people are using this event to politicize and highlight their own views and chastising others for having separate views are awful. Taking a flag down changes little. While I understand the symbolism the flag may hold to some, remember all the slavery and oppression that occurred under the American Flag. Some people have used Jesus's crucifix as a motive for crimes. Should we ban crucifixes? At the end of the day, some people believe that, just because you support other people's decision to wave a flag or not (It's not the government's business), you are automatically racist, homophobic, and a terrible person. I don't think any less of people with a confederate flag just like I don' think any less or more of people with a rainbow flag. Our leaders are pitting good people against good people.

You know who else divided a nation to get them to hate a certain group. Hitler.

Of course, I'm not saying internment camps are going to happen, but it is food for thought.

**Keep the questions coming! They are for points. **

**Thank you so much, everybody. Remember, the long-term bet is still on from last chapter. I'm surprised by a couple of picks for the first dropout of 2016 (My money is on Bobby Jindal. The guy is ridiculous.)**

**Regardless, please review and get others to as well if they haven't. We need to bond and brig others into this tiny SYOT community. I need your help for that, and you have already done so much for me. Keep it up, and I think we will all be happy. Me as a writer, and you as a reader.**

**Thank you. I will see you soon.**


	23. Between The Training: Night 1

**Xenophon Cupress (15) District 7**

Xenophon was shocked at the lack of security in place for the Capitol computers. The boy knew little about hacking, but a password was not even necessary to log into his mentor's laptop. When he snuck into the snoring man's small bedroom, the cool fan above shook and hid the padded barefoot steps on the hardwood floor. Xenophon swiped the black tablet and scurried out of the room, almost hitting his hip on the tall queen-sized bed his mentor had huddled himself within.

He hunched over like a mouse stealing a block of cheese until he slipped through the opaque lavender door and clicked the silver lock. The young teenager launched himself towards his bed on his tiptoes until he felt the soft safety of the warm white comforter on the queen sized bed. The covers lowered over him when he turned on his mentor's golden tablet.

His eyes lit up as he scrolled through the news of the day on the Capitol intranet.

It was clearly propaganda. Unbiased information was as dead as the voices of the Avoxes standing guard by him and carrying pots of chili at the dining room table. He slipped his covers up a inch and checked his glass sliding door to make sure it was locked. He dug himself further into the suffocating covers and looked through the headlines.

A small voice shouted in his head that he should be searching up ways to kill a deer or start a fire. However, the green eyed boiy felt more excitement from digging into the actual juicy tidbits hidden away from the citizens of Panem.

Xenophon huffed with every link. More sputtering of District transgression. And that was digging deep into the sites. Most of the front pages spouted the excitement felt for the Games.

His mentor's email was a different story.

When he clicked o the envelope application, an urgent warning was the first mail. He touched the link and saw it was sent an hour earlier.

Xenophon opened up the message.

_From: rodhamzip_

_To:sevenup_

_Felipe,_

_Good job shutting the boy up. Make sure he doesn't make anymore enemies. For your sake, I don't want Kirkland suspicious about you because some brat decided to speak up. Funny surveillance video, though. I might have to send that to the others._

Xenephon felt the blood buried in his veins run cold.

_Regardless, keep Xenophon and Larissa at bay. They might get far, but I can't fix everything. Sorry, but I can't seem biased. Otherwise, Seven might have won last year._

_Speaking of which, that little devil is in the building. He's swayed Kirkland in regards to the Games and the importance of the space program, but the public are kind of deaf and stupid. Some in the outer districts already consider him a new you-know-what._

Xenophon blinked and rubbed his eyes from the bright light in the makeshift tent. He guessed they were talking about last year's Victor. He did hear a few grumbling a about him seeming a bit anarchist, but the short teen from Nine seemed more uncaring to him than a beacon of hope. Xenophon frowned and read on.

_He is more emotionally stable than plant girl, and Kirkland loves him. However, if the Board gets suspicious, we're all dead. /div_

_Whatever you do, keep Xenophon away from him! We don't need the seeds of revolution implanted into Xenophon. And we certainly don't need to give Aslovee more motivation to hate us further. I'm afraid he's going to go rogue and stop cooperating. He's still a liability, but there's no use going into that again._/div

_Also, I hope you took your money out like I told you. It may not be at the bank in a few days./div_

_P.S. I know this is a different email than my normal private one, but I think they're tracking that one now. I already got rid of my correspondence to the other's as well, so this address is safe._

Helen

Xenophon stared blankly out at the twinkling car headlights crawling in the streets below. It seemed like every building had blue or red lights alternating in a bright dance on the rooftops.

He hated that nobody got any sleep. It made him hate where he was.

The boy tossed in the king-sized bed. The tablet hid under his pillow as he pondered.

He assumed this Helen lady was important. What did she mean about fixing? Was she working with the Games? And she mentioned others? And what did she care if he talked to the Victor or not. The guy was a cold asshole. Why would he want to talk to someone that wouldn't listen to him or someone he could influence?

Why would the President try to kill them?

Finally, was the line about his mentor's bank a joke? Or was Helen even more important than he thought?

His first instinct was to wake up Felipe and interrogate him. His second instinct was to rush though the ministered hallways up to Aslovee Chesed's room and force him to answer.

His third thought was the most realistic, and cowardly one. Go to sleep.

This could be thought through better with sleep, Xenophon thought. I would rather die in the Games, not tomorrow.

Xenophon mentally smacked himself. "Actually, I'd rather not die. Keep my head down." He said to himself.

Xenophon hoped he didn't snore in his sleep in the Games. It was a habit of his.

**Leslaw Valince (17) District 9**

Leslie grimaced as the Avox sprinkled pepper all over his strawberry salad. The black spice seeped it's stinging flavor into the dark lettuce and crimson strawberries. He reached towards the glass of cranberry juice towards his left. Just the smell of pepper made Leslaw gag.

"I might die early if they put any more pepper on here." He said.

Erytheia rolled her eyes. Leslaw felt his permanent smile falter for a split second. He hated his jokes falling on deaf ears.

"Can we have a laugh in here, please? You act like I just brought in my dad's corpse or something like that."

Aslovee Chesed swiped a glance at Leslaw from the corner of his eye. He continued to eat the sushi on his plate.

Leslaw absorbed the group sitting around him. Erytheia had done nothing but stare at last year's Victor. Whenever he said anything, she nodded. Wherever he walked, she leapt up from her chair and followed him. Leslaw swore Erytheia loses half of her blonde hair from the twirling and playing she out it through.

Meanwhile, the Capitol girl was supposed to be the Escort. She didn't look as crazy as the others, opting for a blue miniskirt and yellow blazer. The girl seemed polite enough to pity laugh Leslaw, but she was quite timid.

"Listen," Leslaw said to the group. "I know we're all nervous, but curling up in a ball isn't going to help."

Erytheia sighed. "I'm not nervous. Nine one last year, it will win again."

"We can't both win."

"Apparently, you can. You saw what happened with Katniss an-."

The chair screeched across the hardwood floor. Aslovee stood up and put down the piece of sushi. "I'm going to the pool."

He turned towards the door before Kim grabbed his arm. "The pool? What about the Games?"

Aslovee looked at Erytheia and Leslaw. "You know about that saying where doing the same thing and expecting a different result is insanity."

Leslaw chuckled. "I said that to you."

Aslovee turned back towards the door. "Everyone else is talking strategy tonight. If we don't, we win."

Aslovee slipped out of the door with Kim on his heels.

The door closed, allowing Leslaw to put his feet up on the table. He smoothed out the wrinkle on his black eyepatch and grinned at Erytheia. "Guess he cares after all?" He asked in a light tone.

Erytheia rolled her eyes again. "He's just being smart. It's not like winning is a secret. You just don't die."

Leslaw tensed up. Erytheia was starting to annoy him. His goal would be destroyed if he let her get to him.

He thought of his home to calm down. Not his destroyed home, but his District. For as poor and corrupt as it was, the weather was temperate and the flat planes waving golden wheat in the sun-soaked summer sky awed him. He remembered those nights of loneliness draped by the midnight stars on the rickety wooden park benches. His legs swung over the dark concrete while he sat with no one to be around.

Being alone made him miserable.

Nobody wants to be by a miserable person, right?

He leapt onto his feet. "Should we follow them, darling?"

Erytheia put her hands on her hips. "Don't call me that. And why would we follow them?"

He shrugged. "Adventure, I guess. Why else would you want to see Aslovee glistening and wet from a pool?"

Erytheia gagged. "What are you talking about, you lunatic?"

Leslaw laughed. "You totally have a thing for him. I'm surprised you haven't tied him to your bed by now."

She smacked Leslaw's shoulder. "Shut up. Aslovee is just...shut up!"

Leslaw walked over to the door. He nodded at one of the ginger-haired avoxes. He walked out into the wide hallway. The violet walls extended towards an elevator door next to a marble pillar. He walked into the silver elevator shaft and pressed the down button.

A hand grabbed the closing doors ad forced them open. Erythiea pushed herself into the shaft and jammed the close button.

She pointed at Leslaw. "I just want to eavesdrop, okay? And I'm bored."

Leslaw felt the tightness in his chest ease up. "Sure. Let's see what they're up to."

**Erytheia Perzsi****(17) District 9**

The girl felt a little jittery as her and Leslaw made it to the bottom floor. The grey hallways were dimly lit from the fluorescent lighting above them. The thick smell of chlorine wafted through the damp hallways.

"I heard the people that stay here swim a lot when the Games don't happen," she said.

"You want to swim around with other people's sweat and shit?" Leslaw said.

Erytheia felt her eyes hurt from the thousandth eye roll of the night. "It's Capitol Culture. You wouldn't understand."

"And you do because you read magazines?"

Erytheia ignored him as the reached the entrance of the large pool. A glass ceiling showing the night sky above Panem was obscured by the bright lights around the empty pool. The cool air circulated around the pool area as the waves lapped up the curb. Leslaw tugged Erytheia's shoulder and they moved behind the wall towards the female locker rooms.

Erytheia gasped when she saw a line of waves skimming through the water. Muscled arms crashed through the surface as they moved towards the curb nearest to them. The Capitol girl, Erytheia thought in disdain, kneeled by the edge as she stared down at the water. The figure glided in a calm backstroke through the length of the pool.

A hand smacked the edge as Aslovee lifted his head up from the water. His black hair was weighed down over his head from the water. He brushed the hair from his eyes before wiping his glistening shoulders of the water droplets running down his skin. He rested his forearms on the curb and leaned up towards the girl.

Before Erythreia could pass out over the image, Leslaw shushed her as the girl spoke.

"I just think you're being too insensitive."

Aslovee looked at her. "I just wanted to come down here and swim."

Kim frowned. "As much as I like seeing you swim, you've been doing it ever since we went to that pool last week."

"I like water. Who doesn't?"

"I guess you can't ever have to much of it."

"Yes you can. It's called drowning," he said flatly.

Kim kneeled down, causing Leslaw and Erythreia to move closer to hear here through the harsh echo of the waves in the pool. "Trust me. I would love it if you could swim all day."

"Me, too," Erythreia whispered to herself.

It was Leslaw's time to roll his eyes as Kim continued. "But if you want them to win, you have to actually care about them. Do you actually care about them?"

The running water through the filters in the pool hid the silence between the two spying Tributes while Aslovee stared at Kim. "I don't want them to die."

"Be honest."

"I don't want them to die," He repeated.

Kim sighed. "We'll work on that later. Right now, we need you to do something."

"Again? You dragged me out here for the Games. What more do you want. Next thing you know, those bitch bosses you have will force me to be in some dance routine propoganda shit while these Capitol assholes shoot everyone."

"Well, that was a thought we had...," Kim trailed off. "No, that'd be stupid. They tried that propo before. Didn't work. Anyway, Just agree to this and you can continue swimming."

"What is it?"

"You need to take your money out of the bank."

Aslovee frowned. "Why would I do that?"

"It's a little complicated. I can't tell you everything, but something is going to happen in a few days that's going to cause a credit freeze. You know what a credit card is?"

Aslovee gave her a look of blank apathy.

"Okay, you do. I'm sorry. I have to assume you don't know everything. The point is...two years ago, the Panem National Bank started to lie about how much they owed investors. So the-."

"No offense, but...are you the one that's supposed to be telling me this?" Aslovee asked.

"She doesn't strike me as an expert in this either," Leslaw whispered in the corner. Erytheia nodded.

Kim blushed. "Not really. I have no idea what I'm saying. It was just in the report they sent me. Something about credit freezes and the Bank declaring bankruptcy in a few days and shutting down the econo-. I'm sorry. I'm being stupid."

Erytheia frowned. "What the fuck are they talking about?"

She had heard a couple of rumors about some uprisings in certain parts of Panem, but she never minded. Most of her days were more sheltered than many of the younger children of Panem. Not nearly as exciting as the Capitol life, but it was enough to stop worrying about some pesky revolution that could shatter any wealth her parents earned.

Aslovee sighed. He reached up and placed his hand on Kim's head.

Leslaw broke into a fit of giggles. "Is he petting her or something?"

"Lucky bastard," Erythreia growled.

Aslovee brought his hand down to the wet concrete on the edge of the pool. "We'll talk about it when your ready. But do you really have to supervise me while swimming? It's not like I'm going to escape."

Kim stood up and rubbed the wet spot in her hair. "It's...I-It's just that you could drown. And we wouldn't want that."

"You'd be able to save me if I drowned?"

Erythiea blushed as Aslovee began to step out of the pool. He hoisted himself up and started to climb over the edge, dripping from the crystalline water. However, before she could begin to ogle his body, Leslaw grabbed her by the shoulders and tugged her back.

"We have to go," he said. "They almost saw us."

Erytheia reluctantly jogged next to Leslaw as they reached the elevator door.

"What was up with that? Why were they talking about banks?" He asked.

She moaned. "Don't care. As long as it does't hurt us in the Games."

"But don't you think it's weird?"

Erytheia stared at Leslaw as the doors opened in front of them. They stepped in and began to zoom up through the building.

She turned to Leslaw. "I don't know what she was going on about. I'm sure we're fine as long as Aslovee helps us win."

Leslaw leaned on the glass elevator wall overlooking the marble atrium. "What if it's about something else? Like-."

"He said he cared about us," Erytheia interrupted. "If it's a big deal, then he would be worried about it."

"He said he didn't want us to die. That doesn't mean anything."

"It means he cares so he doesn't want us to die. Just trust him. He won before." Erytheia groaned.

The two tributes waited for the doors to open again.

The both jumped back in surprise as the ginger Avox, flanked by a security guard and taller man in a white button down shirt and grey khakis stood in front of them.

"That's them, Russell?" The bulky security guard in a large blue uniform asked.

Russell nodded. "Can I ask where your Mentor is?"

* * *

**Just a tad more fanservice if that's what anyone wanted. Did you want it? Well, I think it's healthy in moderation for any story. **

**So a scheme is happening. Something about banks? What about Helen keeping tabs with the other District Mentors? How many know of her true motives. What are her true motives? Will Xenophon get mixed up? Are Leslaw and Erytheia in trouble? See what happens next and how your characters change everything.**

**Please keep reviewing! I've noticed a bit of a slowdown, so I hope you take my words for heart when I say how much I need you to review and push me onward. This SYOT is for all of you. Otherwise, I would ave just made up 24 Tributes by myself, and that would have never worked. **

**Make sure to keep asking questions for me to answer. Keep trying to find ways to get points. Also, the long running bet is still on. Which Republican drops out of the 2016 race first? Let me know.**

**Finally, be sure to spread the word around. Get others to enjoy this as well, or hat e on it. Whichever they choose is fine as long as they know about it.**

**Thank you so much. I will see you all soon!**


	24. Training Day 2: Hiatus Over?

**Ayden Everett (18)**

Gus gasped while his hands slipped off the yellow monkey bars. He dropped like an arrow in the sky onto the padding below. With a grunt, he rolled over to find a Ayden trying to smother her laughter.

"What's your problem?" He asked her with a scowl.

"You such a moron," she said. "You're supposed to put that chalk on before you climb on those."

Gus smoothed out the wrinkled in his training outfit and stood up. "There's not much chalk out in the arena."

Ayden rolled her eyes. "Who knows? Maybe the arena is a place filled with magic chalk you can draw with?

Walking over to the monkey bars, Ayden leapt up and grabbed the horizontal poles. She swung through the obstacle with the ease of a leaf blowing through a powerful fan. When she hopped down, she patted Gus on the head.

"You'll get it one day."

Gus knocked her hand away. "Don't touch me."

Ayden laughed. "Whatever. Where are the others?"

Gus rubbed his head. "Don't know."

She pointed at the rock wall. "Those are the others all at the wall," she said. Erik and Triton were at the top while Kerri was gettign strapped into the harness. "It's like the expect us to be on a mountain this year."

Gus shrugged. "An ounce of protection, I guess."

Ayden rolled her eyes. "Chill out, dude. We're in the Games. Live a little."

Gus glared up at her. "I will live, actually. It's reckless people like you who end up dying," he said while climbing up the ladder towards the monkey bars.

She turned her turquoise eyes towards him, crinkled slightly at the edges from her grin. "And you think you have a shot? You have zero personality."

Gus leapt up towards the bars and began to traverse them. His stocky arms strained under his weight as he moved forward "People like that have won before" he said under his breath. "Just look at the past two winners."

"Mockingbird Girl never existed in my eyes," Ayden said. "And last year was a mistake. A real tribute is going to win. And it's definately not gonna be some guy that was born with a spoon up his ass."

Gus dropped down onto the padded rubber before walking towards Ayden. "I wasn't bron with a silver spoon."

Ayden barked out a laugh. "You're the District general's son. You think you'd be here if it wasn't for that?"

Gus jabbed a finger at her. "I went through shit just like everyone here," he said in a terse tone. "And I'm not getting distracted from the goal. Winning. So don't say anything about my father again."

Ayden crossed her arms. She looked down at the angry teenager in amusement. A small bead of sweat rolled down his sunken cheeks while he scowled at her."You see? That," she said with a smirk. "That passion is what we need. Do more of that, channel it, and you might be able to finish in the top twenty."

She turned away from Gus and looked up at the judge's box. Nobody was in it yet. It was far too soon to be staking out bets.

"Do that in front of them," she pointed up at the box. "And you might just end up winning."

Gus narrowed his eyes as Ayden bumped her shoulder into his while walking towards the monkey bars.

**Lizzie Stratton (15)**

Lizzie could not fathom how people started this early in the morning. Her mentor had to force her out of her warm swaddle of comforters in the massive bedroom. The latex jumpsuit she had to wear to the early-morning sessions clutched at her skin and slowed every movement she made.

At the archery section, she heaved the bulky metallic bow and slid an arrow throw the lyre. Her thin arms buckled as she leaned back and aimed forward at the range. A bell rang. The targets sprung up as beige dummies.

She let go of the bow.

It fell at her feet.

"Fuck it," she shouted.

"Harder than it looks?"

She dropped the bow in surprise and looked next to her. A boy, her height, with a black crew cut looked with quiet amusement at the mocking dummy upright at the end of the range. His arms crossed, he turned towards her. "You look miserable."

Lizzie forced herself to not roll her eyes. "It's way too early to be doing this."

The boy nodded. "I agree. Most of these people are still dehydrated from sleeping. Why do you think you're so thirsty in the morning?"

Lizzie gazed at his grey eyes. "I never thought of that. Thanks for the life hack."

"Was that sarcasm?"

"Of course not."

He touched the bow with his foot. "In case you care, it's important to know this stuff."

Lizzie stepped back from him. "You're an expert apparently."

"Nope. Just breaking the law?"

"What law?"

"Being curious."

Lizzie felt her spine clench from frustration. She rubbed her forehead from the sweat forming in the humid training center. The noise within the building made her head heavy. The crashing rubber in the sword sparring section. Stretching rubber from falling off the rock wall. Metal weights bouncing off the rubber surface of the center. The swinging fluorescent lights above spied on the teenagers preparing for death.

Lizzie's shoulders slumped as she turned to walk away. Embarrasing herself was the last thing she needed to happen before the Games.

"I'm Emerson."

She looked back at Emerson. He had a large hand held out at her.

Lizzie grabbed it. "Lizzie Stratton. If you know how to use any of these things, you're more than welcome to help."

Emerson let go of her sweaty hand. "Nope. Archery was never a subject I cared for."

Lizzie giggled softly. "It's okay. Sorry about acting like an idiot. Mornings aren't my strong suit."

"We need to get more used to them. No curfews in the Games."

Lizzie nodded. "Yup. No curfews in the Games. That should really be a tagline to some action story."

**Oscar Timas (15)**

Oscar tapped his foot while glaring at the rack of heavy weights. His combed hair was already frazzled from a brief jog on one of the treadmills. His legs held a dull throb from the mountain setting on the machine. He would barely consider himself a decent runner.

It would be impossible for him to lift one of those twenty-pound dumbbells.

He reached out towards one of the metal weights. When he saw someone from the corner of his eye, he withdrew and straightened up his back.

A small black boy bounded next to him. His thin figure looked up at Oscar. "You using these at all?"

Oscar looked down at him. "What?"

"Are you using these?"

"I don't mean to sound rude, but you're like twelve or so, right? These weights aren't really going to help."

"I know that, but I have to try."

Oscar sat down next to the rack. "What's your name?"

"Bean Crow. From Eleven."

Oscar nodded. "Good. What do you think of these guys around here?"

Bean looked around the training center. The Careers were starting to retreat out of the room for a break. The two twins from Twelve were working on camouflage techniques in the prickly underbrush in the corner. A few of the outer district tributes were attempting to learn some self-defense from an instructor. The larger man slammed one of the girls onto the ground, eliciting a cringe from Bean.

"The Careers don't seem as crazy this time."

Oscar scoffed. "In the Games, that'll change."

Bean sighed. "I guess you're right."

He plopped himself next to Oscar as they leaned on the weight rack.

"I'm not good at the weight shit, either. Just so you don't feel bad."

Bean shook his head. "No problem. I haven't started working out in the farms yet, so I don't have that experience."

Oscar smacked his lips. "My place doesn't have that. The extent of my physical activity is moving a pencil over a piece of paper."

"For what?" Bean asked loudly.

Oscar flinched as Bean leaned forward towards him. "Uh…I just did some math stuff. It calms me down."

Bean lurched forward and smiled at Oscar. "Our schools got shut down last year. You still have them?"

Oscar frowned. "I didn't know that. You don't know math then?"

Bean shook his head so fast that his long, wild black hair whipped around. "They don't want us to know it. That's what they said to us."

"Bastards. They don't even want you to know that? Do they really think that's going to be a problem? Knowing math?" Oscar said in a ferocious whisper.

Bean shrugged. "It's not like they really care. I'm sure they won't mind if I learn after I make it out of here."

Oscar shuddered inwardly. This twelve-year-old thought he had a chance. Most of the time, he was the first to go in the bloodbath. Other times, the younger people were used as body shields for the older kids. While he stared out at the grey walls surrounding the training arena, he started to feel bad for the kid. He was only a few years older, but he could project a sense of confidence and danger. Bean was a small teddy bear compared to most of the other people trying to claw their way up the swinging ropes in the training center.

Oscar stood up. "I guess we'll find out."

Bean shot up to his feet. "You think things will be better?"

Oscar looked down at the sprightly child. "What will be better?"

"Us learning. They'll teach us math one day."

Oscar took a long, warm breath. "Again, we'll find out."

* * *

**Hello Everybody. Welcome back to a shorter than usual chapter.**

**As you may have guessed, many things have changed in the past few months. I am back in school. With tests, projects, and writing for the newspaper, I have been creatively shot. Grinding through chapters is not what I want, so I want to focus on quality and not quantity. **

**I am very disappointed in myself. You signed on to this because you expected the fast and good updates from the first SYOT, not to be a year after I started and not hit the Games yet. **

**There is no excuse and no solution except to move forward. **

**Can I count on you to stick with me? People will say that I am irresponsible and untrustworthy, but you and I know better. Yes, it may be difficult to keep going, but I will see this to the end. Don't even think about that question. **

**Which is why I am counting on you to help me out.**

**Review as much as you can. Get others you know around to check this out. Remember that there are ways to get sponsor points. Suggest anything you would like to see.**

**I know people give up more and more on SYOTs, but that is not me! You know I am capable of it, so I will deliver better and timely updates. **

**Please tell me what you think so far. Stay positive, and motivate me! The number two reason for giving up (#1 is laziness) is lack of interest/motivation. This will not happen with you. you are the best SYOT reviewers I have seen, and I am honored to have you tear my story to shreds any day.**

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**Thank you so much. Please reach out when you can!**

**See you later. Thank you.**


	25. Between The Training: Night 2

**Bean Crow-District 11 (12)**

Bean saw his own awed reflection while he gawked at the television. The vivid colors flashed with every movement of the frame. He tapped the glowing concave screen. His eyes crossed as his vision focused on the illuminated pixels. The dull heat emanated over his face.

"Can you even see what's on?"

Bean looked back; the static heat grazed his black skin. Adelana, legs crossed over the leather couch, huffed while the spry boy bounded towards her.

"It's just some boring news."

Adalena cocked an eyebrow. "Kid, do you know what you're here for?"

"I'm not a kid I'm twelve, Addy."

"Don't call me that."

Bean sat down next to her. The screen was bright with a talking bald head pointing at a number of graphs. Words zipped at the bottom of the screen in a bold white blur. With the Capitol skyline twinkling outside the frosty window, Bean rested his head on the armchair. A black throw pillow separated him and Adalena.

"The Hunger Games. You know about that?"

Bean looked over at Adalena. She stared ahead at the television.

"Yup. That's were all those people die."

Adalena sighed. "And you're okay with that."

Bean looked out the bay windows stretching towards the end of the large living room. A flying light fascinated him when it crossed over the city through the clouded night sky.

"Is that like a plane or something?"

Adalena turned towards the window. "Planes were a long time ago. They're calles hovercrafts or something like that."

Bean nodded. "Will you help me during the Games?"

Adalena gasped. They stared at each other. Adalena's hazel eyes shot open while the silence blocked them like a brick wall.

"I never said that."

Bean slumped in his seat. His head hung with his chin crashing onto his chest. "I know."

Adalena scooted herself closer towards the center of the couch. The leather squeaked with every move of her light frame. "I'm not here to be your bodyguard. Look, kid, I un-."

"I'm twelve. I'm practically a teenager."

"Shut up. Anyway, I get if you're upset. I don't want to go into my life story, but my family basically hates me."

Bean perked up and leaned closer. "How? They're family. Why would they hate you?"

Adalena tightened her jaw with a quick sniffle. Bean saw her hand grip the edge of the cool leather. She stared at the crinkles on the furniture surface.

Bean heard a news reporter laugh on the television.

Adalena shook her head. "I don't know. Some people just get matched up with others that don' like them."

"Even if they're family?"

"Especially." Adalena said firmly. "That's why I'm coming home. They'll beg for forgiveness. They'll tell me how sorry they are and how they didn't mean anything. They'll ask if my mother wanted it this way. Then, they'll ask for money and a room at my new mansion. Why would I give it to them? Why wouldn't I throw everything in their faces?" She said quietly.

Bean shrugged. "They're family. You look out for each other."

Adalena scoffed. "Not anymore."

Bean ran a small hand through his thick brown hair. Adalena coughed while Bean stood up. "It's not like there is much else I had to look out for."

Adalena chuckled with an empty smile. "I guess not. Everybody is rich around here,"

The television speakers hummed while Bean looked at the incensed girl. "That's no reason to hate them."

Adalena whipped her head towards Bean. "Why do you think I hate them? I never said I did. "

"People get…you know. They want stuff other do."

"You mean jealous? Sure, I get jealous. Jealous that they have all of this stuff. But I don't hate them. They don't hate us. It's just the people at the top."

"So what should we do? Ask them to help the other districts?

Adalena leaned back on the couch. "Why scream if they won't hear?"

**Foster Arkgrime-District 12 (16)**

The District Twelve floor was more luxurious than Foster could imagine. The chrome lining on every doorframe glimmered with the white recess lighting built into the ceiling. Even the fans from above blew out a cool draft with a lemon scent buried within the air. The charcoal tiles on the walls contrasted with the white marble floor. Foster's bare feet shivered from the frigid floor as he sat at the red table. The crimson tablecloth obscured the bottom of the table.

Foster and Petunia's mentor was a gruff, middle-aged man with a small grey stubble on his sharp chin. His eyes were narrowed while he looked over at Foster who stared down at his golden plate of roasted tempeh and cauliflower.

"The sponsors are looking at an underdog tis year," he said in a raspy voice. "I shouldn't say this to you, but I think we should consider an alliance."

Petunia sat down and grabbed Foster's hand as she sat down next to him. "With who? Nobody wants to pair up with Twelve."

The mentor nodded. "I realize that. They avoid you like you're a mutt. But let's be honest. Talent is not going to win us anything. Unless it's candle-making, I doubt you two could fight ay of the Careers."

Foster started wringing his hand that was clasped by Petunia. "It doesn't matter. Just keep us close to each other and we'll manage," he said.

The mentor stood up and chugged down the rest of his white wine. He hiccupped and put the glass down. "Appearances are everything. You do look a bit intimidating with that burn mark on your face, but you still can't fight. With your sister latching onto you, the big problem is what the crowd will go for."

"People don't care about appearance's that much," Petunia said. "Most victors get by fine without being supermodels."

"I'm not saying you're ugly," the mentor said. "Honestly, Twelve is going to have a lot against it. Play up the loving siblings angle, and maybe you will hit the top twelve. Look, it's not that I'm not optimistic, but I'm tired. Last year, one of the tributes punched me. If you have any ideas, let me know. I have to sleep."

He rubbed his dull brown eyes and trudged out of the room. Petunia frowned at the exiting man who disappeared through the doorframe. She got up and walked to the sink. She turned the two switches and ran warm water underneath the silver faucet.

Foster propped his head up with an arm and kept looking at the plate on the table. "He has a bit of a point," he said.

Petunia said nothing.

Foster lowered his head further; obscuring the edges of his eyesight with the colorful table cloth. "Although the past two winners have kind of been decided by appearance than intelligence. Or strength for the most part. I think we should try the camoflauge tomorrow. Because, you know, that worked so well for the other guy from Twelve two years ago. They never did show us how he got those in the arena."

The edge of the cloth bunched up next to his elbow, but Foster kept talking to himself.

"I guess working in the apothecary didn't help much in training for anything. But we do know a lot about herbs and drugs. That's a horrible angle. Nobody cares if we know about plants. Damn it. I wish we knew something about bows or whatever is popular around here. I think knives are the big thing now. Let's find some knives tomorrow and stab those dummies for a fe-."

"Foster."

The lanky boy flinched when he felt a hand on his inner thigh. He flung the table cloth up and saw Petunia looking up at him with a big grin. Her blue eyes sparkled slightly as she rocked on her knees. She sat in between his legs and started to lean forward.

"What the hell are you doing? Get out from under there," Foster said in a shaky voice.

Petunia laughed. "Why are you so nervous, big brother? I thought we were supposed to play up an angle."

Foster cringed as her hand moved farther up his leg. "Did you hit your head on something today? Stop touching me. Whats wrong with you?"

"Isn't this what we want, big brother?" Petunia said with a sultry breath. "The Games haven't seen like this."

"This isn't what I meant, Petunia," Foster almost shouted. "Nobody wants this in the Games. With siblings?"

Petunia's grin widened. "If that's true, then why haven't you moved away yet?"

Just as Foster was about to leap out of his chair, Petunia put her knees on his feet and kept him anchored. "Besides, our mentor may hear you if you shout. Don;t want to be found out yet, do we?"

Foster grunted. "This isn't like you, Petunia. The Games ha-."

"Shut up," Petunia said as her hands went towards the leather belt on Foster's jeans. "I hear what you do with Gilda in your bedroom. I'm way prettier than her. Let's face it, big brother. We're twins. We need each other. Not just in the Games, but out here in the real world. It would be a crime against nature to want anybody else."

Foster gripped the edge of the table like a snake squeezing a victim's neck as he heard a loud zip. "I look way better than her. I bet I'm way better at this, too."

"Petunia..."

One last giggle.

**Jason "Jace" Castellan-District 3 (18) **

Jace found it odd how the roof was not unlocked. When he ventured up the narrow stone staircase and pushed open the mint green door, he drew a quick breath as he stumbled out onto the rooftop. The cool breeze flew by him and disheveled his choppy blonde hair. The dark rooftop contrasted with the twinkling white light surrounding the tall building. Neon purple and green signs flickered around the horizon while impatient cars honked underneath him. The soft rumble of the building's air condition units hidden a series of pipes and vents massaged Jace's black sneakers.

As he turned towards the other side of the dome of lights obscuring the stars, he saw a small frame with long hair blocking part of the white rays. She stood by the edge with her arms crossed, protecting herself from the cold.

Jace sighed as he trudged towards her. "You can't jump."

The girl shrugged without turning around. "I know. Someone tries it every year. They have some barrier or some shit around it. Powered by an electromagnet at the bottom of this building. It would be more efficient if it was powered at the top instead. Maybe with a nuclear generator."

The small girl turned her head around. Jace noticed her porcelain face shimmering in the light before he stood next to her. "My dad worked at a nuclear plant. He taught me a thing or two."

"So if the arena is a nuclear plant, you should win."

She sighed. "If I don't die. Five usually doesn't do well."

"Neither did Twelve? Look what happened."

"You mean both of them dying and having the District incinerated with a nuclear bomb? I wouldn't say that's a victory."

Jace rolled his eyes. "Okay. Look at Nine, then. That's a Victor that hasn't plunged us into another rebellion."

She nodded. "There's a problem that one of my teachers used. It involves an old man and a mountain. The idea is that we need to prove that the old man will, if he starts his travel up and down the mountain at sunrise, cross the same point at the exact same time. You know how you do that? You just imagine another old man starting his journey at the same time the other man is going. You know their path's will cross at some point, so that's how you prove it."

Jace stepped to his side to give her more space. "Sounds good to me. Don't know how that applies to what's happening now."

She turned towards Jace. "If Katniss was dead like they told us, why did the revolution die? Wouldn't it have gotten stronger? She would be a martyr. But this guy from Nine is not doing what she did. Yet, I think they're going to cross the same path at some point if they haven't already. Metaphorically, of course."

Jace put his hand on the shorter girl's shoulder. "Look. I'm glad you care about all that, but it doesn't help either of us. You're from five, right? Carol?"

"Chloe Garret," she said.

Jace nodded. "Good. And you're fifteen. None of this stuff about rebellion is going to help you. you need to focus on getting strong or running. Most of these people are just glorified bullies who are allowed to kill people. Being smart doesn't help as much as you think."

Chloe looked down at the cracks on the concrete roof. "You think so?"

"Most of the smartest people don't make it. It's sad, but the victor is usually a boring sand bag."

"Not the past two," Chloe said. "I'll be like them."

Jace frowned before blinking his grey eyes. "Luck. Neither of them were the strongest or smartest."

Chloe slumped her shoulders. "I know. And I have problems thinking I am. I don't think I'm that smart, but I'm going to try to be different and actually have a backbone. I don't know why I'm telling you this. You'll just slit my throat when we head in."

Jace looked down at Chloe and hummed. "Maybe not. I don't want to be completely alone."

Chloe looked up as Jace started to walk away and leave her in the cold wind. "Let me think about it tomorrow. We may get along okay."

Jace shoved his hands in his pant pockets and trotted back towards the safety of the building. He yanked open the door and heard the echo of his steps bounce around the stone walls.

* * *

**Thank you for your patience once again.**

**So here we are. Over a year later, and the Games are only set to begin soon. I apologize if I have been to slow. But I hope this only increases your thirst for seeing the Games like my thirst for wanting to rite them.**

**Can I count on you to stick with me? So many SYOTs go unfinished, but I have already proven I won't allow that to happen. Will you keep reviewing and keep racking up sponsor points? **

**And to anybody just joining in, get others involved! You won't regret it, and you can change the Games to with sponsoring.**

**To anybody who hasn't read in a while, please let them know. If you see a reviewer not review recently, don't be afraid to give each other encouragement. It only takes a minute to review, but it can fuel my writing to incredible levels.**

**Also, ask questions! Do things from the sponsorship list! **

**BTW, I saw Mockingjay part 2. I will share my thoughts in the next chapter, but did you like it? WHy or why not? Also, do you think the fandom will die down or grow stronger.**

**Thank you, and I hope you will stay with me. You're the toughest, yet best, reviewers for any SYOTs. You make my writing worth the hardship or effort. **

**See you soon!**


	26. Training Day 3: Alliances Forming?

**Greta Narcon (14) District 6**

Greta loved learning and hated school.

The feeling of tepidness invaded the short girl's bones every time she had to enter the white brick school building The class listened to the endless propaganda about Panem and the golden streets that paved themselves in the Capitol.

Her sister was the social butterfly in the family. Greta was the floating moth in a forest. She could turn any shade to fit within the surroundings.

A thud jolted her head from the elevator wall. A boy with blonde hair and an eye patch sauntered in with a wide smile. His remaining crystal blue eye reflected the cold fluorescent lighting in the elevator.

"Hello, there," he said in a soft voice. "How are you?"

Greta tried to etch a welcoming nod to the boy. "Fine. I'm thinking of tomorrow."

He chuckled. "We all are. It's no big deal. My District partner is freaking out over what to wear tomorrow. What to wear! It's so silly that she's worried about something like that."

"Erythreia. That's from Nine, right? So you're Leslaw."

He laughed. "Don't remind me. We have all the pressure from winning last year. Worse yet, she is obsessed with our mentor. I think its like two peas in a can or…wait. Two peas in a glass? I don't know the saying."

"It's pod," Great said. "Two peas in a pod. I learned that from some girls talking at school."

He snapped his fingers. "Exactly. Although, I guess that's unfair. Aslovee has shown no interest in her. I'm worried she might do something drastic to get his attention. Poor little gold-digger. In another universe, she would be one of the Capitol freaks."

Greta put her head back on the rumbling wall and looked at him. "You have to look good for the camera, I guess. That's what I've seen, but I don't know how I'll act."

"Just be yourself. That's what me and Erythreia are doing."

The short, obsidian haired girl leaned on the railing encompassing the grey elevator interior. "You have a personality. I have to invent myself."

He tilted his head like a lost puppy. "And what makes you think that?"

Greta stood up straight and turned to him. "I'm fourteen. I don't have any real skills. I don't have these talents or looks that people like you have. You know what I did at home. Barely anything. I'm too young to be beautiful but too old to be adorable. There's no angle for me."

He nodded. "Fourteen is that age where you're stuck between growing up and clinging to childhood. My parents taught me that. It's a rare thing having a childhood in Nine."

Greta let out a half-hearted laugh. "It doesn't matter, I guess."

"Why not?"

Greta choked while trying to formulate her words. He stared at her with a wide, unsettling grin. She felt her throat tighten while her resolve started to fade from her nerves.

"We may not make it to the point where people care."

Saline stung her brown eyes. Greta looked up at the ceiling to stop her emotions from spilling out in front of him.

They rode down the elevator with the boy tapping his foot every second.

"You know," he said. "It's not the end of the world. I don't have many people to run to when I feel bad like you. And I guess you won't have many opportunities."

The door opened. Smattering of digitized henchmen and beaten rubber from falling Tributes permeated the sweat-soaked air. The boy shoved his hands in his pockets and whistled while walking out.

Greta slumped her shoulders while she crossed the metal threshold into the training waiting room.

**Sylvia Carlson (17) District 10**

The boy was only a hair taller and bulkier than Sylvia, but she needed a partner fast.

Wandering over the deep blue padded floor of the training center, Sylvia racked her brains at the people around her. Bruce was out of the picture. The moron had a hard time from fighting Sylvia every time she made a comment. If he had treated her nicely, Sylvia would stop putting him down. Truthfully, The boy was as sensitive as an open paper cut on a baby's ring finger. He was over at the sword section trying to stab a moving dummy. All he did was give the trainer at the station a nasty laceration on the forearm.

The boy from Seven seemed annoying. Whenever someone talked to him, he started to blabber things about the evil government. Then, when he was rebuked, he scowled and slunk away to the running track. The Careers were out; she had no chance of getting in with them. The outer district were her best shot. Unfortunately, that included some preppy idiot from Nine, a creepy guy with an eyepatch, and those twins who were acting very weird. The sister was far too clingy to him. The brother flinched every time she laid a hand on him which happened a lot. In a just world, they could make money with their strange act on some television show.

When she reached the archery section, she saw him. The bow was limp in his hands as he stared at the range of red bullseye targets mocking him.

"I would try puling it back some," she said.

His grey, almond-shaped eyes caught her as he twirled the bow in his fingers. She crossed her arms and almost hugged herself.

"Just wanted to let you know."

He sighed. "I read at least a dozen books on things like this."

Sylvia laughed. "Maybe you should focus on doing it instead of reading about it."

"It's not like there were many places to practice in Eight."

Sylvia rolled her eyes. "There weren't places to practice in Twelve either."

She moved towards him. The slightly tanned boy had a lean build while his black crew cut sparkled from the sweat droplets under the training center lights.

"Reading isn't most people's strong suit here. I would pick a different hobby if you want to live."

He leaned on the table. "I can't read people to death, can I?"

"I can think of some people that could."

"Like who?"

"My district partner. Just sounding out words makes me want to choke him."

He let out a small, but calming laugh. "That's cool. I'm Emerson."

She smiled at him. "Sylvia. Bruce is from Ten like me, but don't expect him to be anywhere near me."

"You don't like each other?"

"I know it's not good, but trust me. You don't want to know him. One time, he was literally bragging about how many cats he could afford. Cats. Like that's an accomplishment. So you know what I said?"

Emerson leaned forwards.

"I told him that was the only pussy he would ever get."

Emerson laughed in front of Sylvia to the point where she gasped for air. "You know how to piss off that guy."

Sylvia shrugged. "Bruce is a bully. I doubt anyone will help him out when we get out there."

He nodded. "Maybe someone should put a leash on him if he wants to bark at a girl like that."

"Or anyone for that matter."

The taller boy put his hands up with the rubber gloves. "Alright. Try again."

Sylvia pulled back her arm before shoving the boxing glove forward. Emerson grunted with every impact. She pushed her arm muscles forward, alternating them with the impact. Sweat left salt trails on her forehead as her short hair flailed with every punch.

After a minute, she kneeled down and filled her lungs with the warm air. Emerson looked down at her as she waved.

"I'm alright. Just need a second."

Emerson crossed his arms. "You remind me a bit of this one girl at home. District Eight."

She looked up. "I look like her?"

Emerson shrugged. "A bit. I doubt you know much about Renaissance evangelical philosophers?"

"What?"

He moved his black hair from his eyes. His oval-shaped face seemed amused, almost tranquil as she gasped for air. "I thought so. Do you know about critical theory?"

Sylvia stood up and wiped her brow. "No."

Emerson tugged the tight collar of his skin-tight latex suit. "Critical theory. It's a reflexive theory where you analyze society based on past cultural history. Not that Panem has much. Anyway, the idea is that the only way to social liberation is to get rid of previous ideology."

Sylvia shook your head. "Look, dude. I'm happy you're on another intellectual plane than be. The problem is that I doubt this is going to help either of us."

Emerson looked down at his feet. "I guess. Just thought it would help. Things are changing a bit. I have a feeling these Games are going to change things."

"How? If a little black girl dying in the last ones didn't do anything even with a Mockingjay, then what would?"

Emerson stuck his hand out. "Antipositivism. People can't be dissected like a math problem, Sylvia. But I know a thing or two about the wilderness."

Sylvia tilted her head. "You're kind of confusing."

She shook his hand anyway.

**Erik Scall (18) District 1**

The tall blonde felt his nerves tighten with every step he took in the training center. His heart crashed in his chest like a pair of cymbals in a large orchestra. he shouldn't have anything to worry about. He was a Career from District One.

Erik was nervous. He was scared. He was confused.

He was nervous because he swore that Cierro from his district and the Tributes from Two were watching hime like the cameras hidden in the cracks of the lunch room's walls. His back muscles ached with every movement of his shoulders. He could barely touch any of the dried fruit and roasted chicken strewn on his silver plate. meeting the Career expectation of ruthless killing was proving to be a larger challenge than any night of fisticuffs or weight lifting he could think up.

Triton did not help matters. The Career from Four was gentle, calm, and optimistic. He seemed out of his comfort zone with every odd twitch of his eyebrow or flicker of his green eyes. Being slightly younger, the smaller framed Triton embraced the oddity of coming to the Capitol and almost seemed happy. At least, Erik thought he seemed happy. If smiling for the camera was all it took, Erik and Triton would be the final two at the end.

For as much as he missed home, he connected with Triton more. They were cut from the same cloth, but they handled the tension in different ways.

"The key is movement," Kerri Wakai, Triton's District partner said. "We have to stay low and fast."

"She's right," Cierro said with a glare Erik. "Nobody ever died from a fire by staying low."

"Other than getting burned," Triton said.

Erik chuckled. His face froze in mid-laugh when he saw the others groan.

"We need a formation," Gus from Two said. "Last year was a mess because they weren't in any formation. I was thinking like what the Peacekeeper's do during riots."

"Which is what, dork?" Ayden said.

"Three in the front and two behind," Kerri said.

"That's what she said, bitch." Ayden shouted.

Cierro slammed her fist on the table. "Shut up," she pointed at Ayden. "We need to show that we're serious. Last year was a clown show for us. This time, we show them we mean business."

Ayden rolled her eyes. "Yeah, we totally mean business with a fuckboy, a short fifteen year old, some angry army brat, and a guy afraid of his own shadow."

Erik jumped in his seat like a bucket of ice water trickled down his spine. "Since when am I afraid of my own shadow?"

"I'm not a fuckboy. I have a girlfriend, and she's mine." Triton said.

They both leaned forward towards Ayden. With a smirk, she tapped them on the nose. "I never said which was which. You two could be both for all I know."

Erik sat back down. "I'm not afraid of my own shadow."

Kerri crossed her arms. "She's right. i see you tense up if so much as a mosquito gets in front of you."

"That's not going to help us," Gus stated. "We need calm and rational. If you're not going to be that, get out."

Triton stammered. "Wait a minute. We can't do this. This is why the last Career pack broke up. Not because of strategy or formations, but they didn't have any teamwork.

"It's the Hunger Games, stupid," Ayden said while sipping some grape juice. "Nobody cares about teamwork or loyalty."

"Sponsors do."

The group grew silent while the other Tributes slammed weights and fell off monkey bars from beyond the one-way window on the wall. Kerri picked at her rice. Gus examined Erik like a scientist looking at a virus through a microscope.

Triton stood up. Erik gasped.

"I'm heading upstairs. The day is done. But we stick together until the end."

He started to walk away when Erik swiveled in his chair. "I'm going, too," he said as he stumbled towards the exit. Triton looked back and gave a small smile at the flushed Tribute.

They entered the elevator. The blue walls of the training center disapperaed behind the metal grey sliding doors. Electric humming shook the elevator with a slow lurch.

"These take way too long. We could go up the stairs faster than this," Triton said with another laugh.

Erik nodded with a slight reddening of his cheeks.

The two stayed silent for a second, allowing the elevator to ring with the passing of the sub-surface floors and building lobby.

"A-am I that obvious?" Erik said.

Triton turned to him with a serious face. "You could live with not freaking out over every little thing. It could increase your lifespan."

Erik leaned back on the silver railing latched onto the cool wall. "Open books don't do well here, do they?"

The two blondes exchanged a quick look before Triton peered at the red floor indicator. "People like relatable figures. They want them to win. People relate to you and me. Ayden is wrong, though. I don't act like she thinks I do with whatever Capitol slang word she threw at me."

Erik stood up a little taller. "Why is that?"

Triton smiled. "I know we are certainly not ugly, but I never slept around like she thinks I did. I know Four has a reputation. The guy from he last games, Romeo, have set a bad example. In fact, I knew the guy."

"Really? Was he like that at home?" Erik asked.

"If he hadn't slept with every girl in Four by the time he died, I would have been shocked. He even asked about my girlfriend, but-." Triton shivered at the thought. "The point is, I have no part in it. I've only had one girlfriend, and I'm more worried about her being around other guys than she is of me. She has me on a leash for lack of a better phrase."

His smile faded away as Erik's floor approached. "That's why I'm going to win. I'm not worried about dying. i'm worried about how my dying will hurt her."

"I wish I had someone like that."

As the doors opened, Triton crossed his arms and smiled at him. "Maybe you do. Just think harder. But don't scare yourself doing it."

Erik saw Triton disappear behind the doors.

* * *

**Thank you again for reading. I am so happy that I have amazing reviewers like you all. **

**I know people are not going to read as much considering the end of school for the fall and the holidays. Know that I will keep chugging along. Count on it.**

**We are getting close to the Games. There will be refresher chapters to remind people of the ongoings right now. Please keep reviewing. Get your friends to review. They can also effect the Games. If you notice someone who hasn't, get them to start making it a habit again. **

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**Get involved. Get others involved. Make this SYOT great!**

**Thank you. See you soon. **


	27. Between The Training: Night 3

**Kerri "Ice" Wakai (14) District 4**

Kerri sat with her legs crossed on the floor of her room. Her straight back touched the cool windowpane. The lights were off, and the chrome fan above her was frozen in the still air. The room was quiet to the point where her sluggish breathing sounded like a foghorn to her small ears. The lights outside illuminated her shadow stretching in front of her. She meditated with a deep resolve, focusing on the dust particles brushing past her small nose. The carpet fabric scratched her bare feet. No noise but the empty ringing in her ears filled the bedroom void.

Her hands, folded in her lap, twitched when the door opened. She squeezed her eyelids with the auburn light shining in from the hallway. A long shadow sheltered half of her face from the intruding rays.

"Can I talk to you for a second," a soft voice said.

"No. Leave," Kerri said.

The door slammed. Footsteps sunk through the white carpet towards her.

"I said leave," Kerri said while her eyes remained shut.

Triton sat down next to her. "Can you promise that you won't tell anybody this?"

"If it's about you and Erik, I don't want to hear anything about it."

Triton gasped. "No, it doesn't. I mean…I wanted to mention that, too. That's not the problem."

"It's dying, right?"

Triton jabbed Kerri with his elbow in a joking manner. "You're good at this talking thing when you do it."

Kerri opened her eyes and turned her head toward Triton. He looked down played with a piece of loose fabric on the floor. Based on the dull ice blue glow of the city, he appeared downtrodden in appearance. He wore a green pullover hoodie with khaki pants, both clothing wrinkled like they had been crumpled into the corner of a walk-in closet.

"You volunteered, didn't you?"

He sighed and turned to her with a sour smile. "I know. I should be over this by now. Everyone has jitters before they go in, right?"

"So it's just jitters?"

Triton scooted closer to her. "I guess I wear my heart on my sleeve. Not very smart for a Career, huh?"

Kerri moved away from him. "Quite moronic, actually," she said quickly.

Triton leaned back on the window. He put his hands behind his head and visibly relaxed. "So does Erik. Explains what we have in common."

Kerri pointed at Triton. "Let me make something clear. I don't know what your problem is, but you have to wise up. And not just for me. Cierro and Gus are talking, and they don't like you two."

Triton froze. "For what? I'm just telli-."

"Listen," she said. "There's something in life called representation. It's a heuristic. You know what the issue with that is? Stereotyping. People want what they know is popular and will win. I can win. I will win. Guess what, though?" She said in a harsh whisper. "You could win, too. I'll make sure it doesn't happen if it comes to that, but you could. Ayden, for as much as a part whore as she is, could win. Gus coul-."

"But I wanted to sa-."

"Shut up and listen," Kerri glared at Triton. "I'm only going to say this once. Gus could win. Cierro could win. Erik Scall cannot, I repeat, cannont win the Games. I'm not saying that because I think he isn't strong or muscular or smart or a threat to the Capitol. The problem is that he is weak. He won't chop the head of the snake when the time comes."

"The head of what? Kerri, I ge-."

"It's Ice. Call me my nickname. Ice."

Triton chuckled. "You were serious about that? I thought you were joking about the nickname."

"Do I seem like someone who jokes?" Kerri said.

They both looked at each other. Triton's bright green eyes seemed tired with wrinkles forming around the eyelids. His normally polished, layered blonde hair was ruffled like he just woke up from a deep sleep. Kerri rubbed her temples and shook her head. Stretching her straight black hair, she stood up and jumped onto the edge of her bed.

Triton climbed to his feet and stayed in front of the window. His shadow blocked the shimmering lights from the skyline. "Do you really want Erik gone?"

Kerri stared at the ceiling.

Triton gave a sad smile and crossed his arms. "I know I'm lucky."

Kerri sat up and frowned. "Why? You're going into literally the unluckiest thing you could be in."

Triton sat leaned back on the glass. "I have a lot I'm lucky about. You and the others will be great teammates. I'll rack in the sponsors with my natural good looks, and we'll bring Four home another Victor. Can we stop from eating each other until then?"

Kerri glared. "If you focus and never bring up appearance again, maybe."

**Chloe Garret (15)-District 5**

The auburn cowlick stuck straight up like one of the steel skyscrapers outside of the building. Chloe licked her finger and tried to smooth it down while Oscar Timas sat in a mahogany rocking chair flipping a page in a large magazine. She stood next to the electric fireplace and felt the itching wool on her new orange sweatshirt.

"You think it takes them a while to get dressed?"

Chloe turned to him with wide eyes. "With those things?"

Oscar nodded. He turned the magazine to her and pointed at a male model with cerulean eye shadow wearing a polka dot spandex dress with a banana scarf.

He tapped on the paper. "This is not normal. Anywhere."

Chloe flashed a weak smile before their Mentor walked in. "Let's get started," the tall lady said. Chloe sat next to Oscar while the old lady stood.

"We need a big night tomorrow when it comes to the interviews. Training scores are going to be announced beforehand, so we need a strategy to get people excited for you two."

"I don't imagine you can tell us how?" Chloe asked quietly.

She shook her head. "I'll level with you. I haven't got much time to know you. I realize we haven't worked out much of the kinks with you're personalities. Both of you appear to be loners."

"I wouldn't say that," Oscar said. "I just would rather be left alone."

"Same here," Chloe said.

The old lady sighed. "Fine. Tell me about yourself, Chloe."

Chloe stared down at the linoleum grey floor. "I'm from Distri-."

"Awful," she said. "You're seriously starting out that way?"

Chloe scrunched her face while looking down at her small pale feet. When she looked back up, shrugged. "I don't know. I don't know how to get them to like me."

She grabbed a raspberry granola bar from the glass bowl on the coffee table and munched down. "It's not that hard. All we need to do is find out why you're strengths are better than their weaknesses. This," the Mentor said while pointing to the two of them. "This is boring. Nobody wants to look at this. Get a backbone, because nobody cares about what you think? Why should anybody care what you think?"

"Because we can think," Oscar said with resolve.

She nodded. "Of course. So show it."

Chloe played with a strand of her hair scratching her cheek. "My father was at a nuclear factory."

"Great. So if the arena is a nuclear facility, you'll do well," the Mentor scoffed.

"I'm just passing ideas," Chloe said.

The mentor shook her head. "Alliances? Any ideas? I think Seven could pull an upset this year."

Chloe looked down at her stubby toes. She scrunched them in the velvet bleached rug underneath her. "Obviously, we want to try and stick together. I recognize that most strategies break apart, so I won't hold out for anything."

Oscar threw a piece of bread in the air and nabbed it in his small hand. "The guy from Seven isn't that bad. I think the guy from Eight, Emerson, is getting an alliance with two girls. Maybe he is out. But I think Seven is trying to pull in the Nine Tributes."

Chloe ran her hands through her thick hair. "That may help us a bit. We can have a kind of strong alliance with that. And people like Nine a bit more. Maybe they'll support us."

The mentor stood up and tightened the bow on her bathrobe. She turned towards the spiral staircase leading to her room. "Get back to me in the morning. Talk more with Seven if you need to. I need sleep."

Chloe sighed.

**Tucker "Tuck" Obsidion (14) District 6 **

Tuck wondered how long the clock would tick without moving. The twitching hands on the white clock struggled in place with each passing second. The warming vents underneath his feet hummed while he paced over the velvet carpet in the small theater room.

The projector ran footage of a past Hunger Games. A young black man was running through the shrubbery in a tropical rainforest. The lens flares from the screen blocked out his face as he hurried through the large underbrush.

Tucker barked out a terse laugh as a giant rhinoceros burst from the foliage and skewered the boy with a sharp horn.

"That's almost funny," he said.

"How could you say that?"

Tucker turned back to Greta Narcon. The mousey-haired girl stared at him with petulance.

He pointed at the screen. "Do you think most of the people in the Capitol laugh or cry when they see things like this. They probably laugh. They get the whole surround sound experience like this and the best cameras to watch these things kill us."

Greta trembled. "Doesn't make it right."

Tucker crouched down to Greta's face. She leaned back while Tuck flicked her nose.

She rubbed her hooked nose and stammered. "Why'd you do that?"

Tucker turned back to the screen. "Just felt like it. Stand up."

Greta stood on jelly legs. Tucker grinned.

"I'm going to punch you. You need to stick your hands out and block me."

Greta gasped. "I'm not doing that. You're going to kill me."

Tucker rolled his eyes. "I'm trying to help you out. At training, all you did was focus on the survival aspect. At some point, you have to fight."

Greta shook her head. She looked up at the red ceiling, copper lights dimmed from the rolling footage flickering on the projector. With reddening eyes, she sniffled.

Tucker sat down in the brown love seat. He put his hands behind his head and stretched. "What about allies? Anybody you like."

Greta choked on her words as her throat tightened. "Not really? One or two people, but I think that will be decided soon."

Tucker shrugged. "I had a friend back home. His name was Tack. He said to me that the best alliances come from need and not want. Not that he was a particularly smart guy, but I guess he came up with something right. All I'm saying is that you have to look out for yourself but use people when necessary."

He stood up and stared at the screen. The giant grey monsters were gone. In its place was a trampled forest of dead leaves and broken twigs along with a screaming Tribute crawling towards his misplaced arm. Blood squirted from his torn shoulder as the black teenager writhed in pain among the weeds.

"I've been dyslexic my whole life. I was bullied a lot in middle school. When I went to school, that is…" Tucker added while looking at the projection. "Schools probably create more morons than any other place in Panem. That includes where we are right now. Fucking idiots. Nobody cares about being smart around here."

He looked at Greta. She had her face buried in one of the red pillows on the seat. "So stop acting like that," he shouted. "Nobody wants a smart person. They want action. They want violence. End of story."

Tucker laughed as the boy on the screen went limp.

* * *

**Thank you once again for reading.**

**I know I have disappointed many people. They expected me to be on the third SYOT by now and wrapping it up! Instead, we are just getting strted on the second Games. I know many have started to lose interest. **

**So if that is you, know that I am not giving up on this story unless you do! That is why reviewing regularly and bringing in new people is incredibly important!**

**I am in this Games for the long haul. Make sure you stay with me to figure out what happens next. Get ready to use your sponsor points. You'll need them!**

**I will be PMing everyone to make sure they are still in this. I will do this for as long as people pay attention. So please leave constructive criticism and the well-written, lengthy reviews I know you are all capable of. I have the best reviewers in this entire place, and I only have you to thank. **

**I look forward to seeing the Games with you in 2016. I won't let you down as long as you stay with me! **

**See you soon!**


	28. Training Scores Night

The rim of the empty Jacuzzi stung the back of Kim's neck with a zapping chill. She let her head lie on the edge while looking down at the bright tablet screen. She scrunched her legs up to prop the tablet to reading level while she swiped through some older tabs. Her bare feet lay on the small beige rug surrounded by white tile while the yellow sweater vest she wore itched her arms.

Kim pulled up a bank account file on the tablet and blew a strand of her blonde hair from her face. The pearl walls and golden faucets around her were par for the course in the Capitol. The bathroom in her family's apartment had a healthy amount of marble flooring with a self-cleansing sink.

A sudden urge to visit her old home struck through her like the tracker the Rebellion injected inside her. Her room always smelled like strawberries. She obsessed over the different fragrances she needed to mix in order to give off the perfect blend of class and seductive beauty. Her mother explained to her the importance of appearances.

Kim swallowed hard as the yellow door opened. Aslovee forced the door shut and locked it behind his back.

Kim flinched at the click of the sliding deadbolt. "Why'd you lock it?"

Aslovee walked towards the Jacuzzi. "Someone might hear us."

He smoothed out his black t-shirt and sweatpants and sat next to Kim. She scooted over slightly with a ghost of a blush on her face.

Aslovee moved closer.

"Why are you getting so close?" Kim asked frantically.

He frowned. "I have to see what we're doing. We have to go over the Games."

Kim nodded. She leaned over and thrusted the tablet into his hands. Aslovee noticed that Kim conspicuously rubbed her hands on his as she gave him the tablet, but he mentally shrugged it off.

"So this is your bank account. I was able to hack through the older records and find the mainframe. When y-."

"What's a mainframe?"

Kim tugged nervously on her ponytail. "Not really sure how to put it in words. Let's just say that I hacked through the firewalls…the security things they have online. I linked the bank accounts to the Rebellion's reserves."

"And you did this by yourself?"

"Hack into Panem's central bank? I had help from some guy named Beetee. Other than that, Felix let me do whatever I wanted. I know a thing or two about hacking," Kim said with a giggle.

"So all the money is-."

"Gone," Kim smiled. "The Panem Reserve is completely bankrupt. It won't stop the Games, but it'll make things more complicated here on out. Interdimensional travel isn't cheap, and it's not like it's been done before. It's the whole starving the beast analogy that I'm sure Felix told you."

"Never heard it," Aslovee said as he crossed his arms. The tablet rested on his lap.

"That's his favorite metaphor. He's proud of it. Anyway," Kim said as she picked up the device. "All you have to do is enter your own account information and transfer the money over.

Aslovee looked over at Kim. He shot up to his feet. "Wait a minute. I'm giving all of the money over to you shitheads?" He said while raising his voice.

Kim stood up, moving slightly above Aslovee's eye level. "I know you don't trust us, but it'll look suspicious if only you're money was saved. And the Capitol is still providing everything for you. It's not like you'll sta-."

She immediately shut her mouth and looked down at the floor. Aslovee's eyes widened. He took a step towards Kim.

"It's not like I'll starve?" he said with a tinge of poison in his voice. "What would you know about starving?"

Kim sniffled. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that."

"Listen," Aslovee said. Kim elevated her gaze to his black eyes. "I don't care about this shit," he said in an even tone. "I never have. I'll play along if it keeps everyone off my back, but I've always been in this for me."

"Aslov-."

"And I know about actually starving," Aslovee interrupted. He clenched his right fist. "There's nothing cool about being poor. Rags-to-riches stories don't exist here. I don't need a pity party from you. It's not like you care anyway."

"Shut up," Kim shouted.

Aslovee looked genuinely surprised for the first time Kim knew him. She examined his stunned expression. Tears threatened to leave her eyes as she shook the tablet in her hand. "Don't tell me what I care or don't care about," She said in a shaky voice. "To you, I'm just some moron from the Capitol with some star-struck daze from living with the Victor. I'm more than that. I'm alone, my parents are being held from me, and I'm forced to be by you every day. You don't even know my last name."

"Relax. It's okay. I get it."

"No you don't," Kim's body started to shake from her ferocious sobs. "But you're still nice to me. You got Christian and Isabel to stop making fun of me. You haven't made fun of me or thrown me out. Bu-but…it's not fair. I have to be by you, and I have to think about you all the time. I-I still feel so alone."

The Capitol girl fell to her knees and covered her face. Her harsh cries were muffled and echoed off the walls. Aslovee kneeled down in front of her. He had zero training in dealing with unstable teenage girls, so he remained speechless. While his vocal cords searched for a coherent sentence, he took the tablet out of Kim's hand.

A second later, he pressed a red button. The balance in his account flashed a large black zero.

He set it down next to him. "I'm officially poor again. Feel better?"

Kim rubbed her cheeks and smiled.

"I still have some money, if we need to get anything," Aslovee said. While avoiding eye contact "I took some out and hid it in my room. In case the Rebellion did something like thi-."

Kim launched herself towards Aslovee and wrapped her arms around him. She hugged him and buried her face in the shoulder of his polyester t-shirt. It was a comforting hug that brought Kim to an immediate calm.

Aslovee looked down at the blonde in confusion. His arms hung limp at their side. Kim kept a strong grip around him. While her emotions went on a rollercoaster ride, Aslovee questioned his purpose in these new games. What would drying out Panem's reserves do? Did Panem owe money to people? The money would undoubtedly be used for the space program, Aslovee thought. What if Schultz had also thought of a Plan B for staying on Earth? This was Plan B?

Kim made things more complicated. He knew that the Rebellion had Kim on a short leash, but he failed to notice how she acted around him. He thought that she was nervous, always blushed, because she needed to perform well to stay alive. She hounded him and asked him how he was because she had to, right?

There was warmth to her hug that made Aslovee realize just how cold the bathroom was before her touch. It was the first human contact he head in a long time. At least, it was the first friendly touch he felt in his recent memory. Something felt soothing about her head nuzzled on his shoulder. It must have been because of the soreness he felt there. The bed in his room had to many fluffy pillows, and they made his sleeping positions awkward.

Kim broke away took the tablet. She scooted over the floor and leaned on Aslovee. "Mind if I...uh...lean on you?"

Aslovee scratched the back of his head. "Bed giving you problems, too?"

"Sure," Kim said. "We need to go over the alliances for these Games." She said while swiping to the electronic clipboard. She pulled up a long list of the Tributes and scrolled through them. She leaned on his side.

**Career Alliance**

Erik Scall (District 1)

Cierro Opele (District 1)

Ayden Everett (District 2)

Augustine "Gus" Vestus (District 2)

Triton St. Pierre (District 4)

Kerri Wakai (District 4)

"Nothing to surprising there," Kim said. "The rest of the field is very scattered."

**Middle District Alliances**

Emerson Locke (District 8)

Sylvia Carlson (District 10)

Larissa Savoy (District 7)

Bruce Willysium (District 10)?

"That would be a weird one," Aslovee said.

Kim shrugged. "Not as much as the next one."

Outer Districts Alliances

Erythreia Perszi (District 9)

Leslaw Valince (District 9)

Adelena Farnham (District 11)

Foster Arkgrime (District 12)

Petunia Arkgrime (District 12)

"These are just tentative. I don't know how likely it is that they will happen."

"Most alliances fall apart quickly," Aslovee said.

Kim scrolled down. "We missed the training score ceremony. So here's a recap."

**Training Scores:**

District 1

Erik Scall-10

Cierro Opele-8

District 2

Augustine "Gus" Vestus-8

Ayden Everett-9

District 3

Jason "Jace" Castellan-7

Lizzie Stratton-6

District 4

Triton -9

Kerri "Ice" Wakai-10

District 5

Oscar Timas-5

Chloe Garret-5

District 6

Tucker "Tuck" Obsidian-6

Greta Narcon-5

District 7

Xenophon Cupress-7

Larissa Savoy-8

District 8

Emerson Aquinas Locke-8

Maiza "Mai" Bluhurte-7

District 9

Leslaw Valince-9

Erythreia Perzsi-8

District 10

Bruce Willysium-9

Sylvia Carlson-8

District 11

Bean Crow-4

Adalena Farnahm-6

District 12

Foster Arkgrime-8

Petunia Arkgrime-6

Aslovee helped Kim to her feet and he started to walk out of the bathroom. When he turned around, Kim sat on the marble vanity next to the sink. She swung her legs nervously as the shorter teenager held the golden doorknob.

"Not surprising scores."

Kim looked at him and nodded.

Aslovee raised an eyebrow. "Aren't you coming?"

Kim gasped. "What if Erythreia or Leslaw see us? What would they think if they saw us coming out of the bathroom together?"

"Don't care. It's cold in here. I'm going to sleep."

Aslovee opened the door and peered out at the empty hallway.

"See you for the interviews."

"Aslovee?"

He turned around. Kim stammered.

"I meant all of that stuff I said. And I'm happy that I'm helping you. Assuming I am," she said.

"You are. I haven't died yet."

He swung the door closed.

* * *

**Just a recap of what we are dealing with these Games.**

**What is this plot? What is going on? Speculate!**

**The interviews are next! What do you want to see.**

**And we are one step closer to the Games. If you haven't reviewed recently, do it! Last chance for sponsor poitns is next chapter. Tell me what you think of everything! Get excited!**

**See you around!**


	29. Update

Please read the whole message.

* * *

**Hello everybody.**

**Well, I want to cut to the chase. I'm about to announce what I believe has been inevitable for some time.**

**The fact of the matter is that I have graduated from college, and I have been involved in a number of jobs from journalism to radio to even the film industry. I have been very busy, and I haven't been able to budget my time wisely enough to have kept this SYOT at the top of my priorities.**

**This SYOT has been in the microwave for almost two years, and I believe that I would not be able to create or give you quality writing with characters that I have forgotten about or have no passion about anymore.**

**You made phenomenal characters, and know that none of this is your fault.**

**Life happens outside of fanfiction, and people have to understand that. This is a promise that I cannot keep**

**But wow! Two years we have been together. Two whole years. Thank you so much for sticking with me.**

**BUT WAIT! I am not quitting on you just yet.**

**I have decided to reboot this SYOT. I am going to keep the story and the supporting cast of the last one (so Kirkland and Aslovee will live on) but I will be restarting this SYOT. And let's be honest, my leaps forward in english could probably make this a better SYOT than just taping on a disjointed and tonally jarring Games.**

**If you want to stay with me, you can take ONE character you submitted from the SYOT and submit it to my new SYOT: Breaking The Void: The 77th Hunger Games. Otherwise, all submissions will be released to the public and fair game. This is a sequel to the last hunger games I did.**

**So what I'm saying is to pretend this never happened and submit to the new one.**

**I know people may be upset, but I will give you far better work if we just start over with the 77th hunger games.**

**Thank you so much. You are the best reviewers I could have. I promise to have this one done quickly. Let's travel through the stars and into the void the way we should: together.**

**What were some of your favorite moments through this, though? What could have been better or inserted to make it better? Let me know!**

**See you there,**

**Christoph Andretti**


	30. Should I Continue?

Never mind.

I want to come back and finish this SYOT.

My question is: do you want me to?

Let me know.


	31. Day 1: The Bloodbath?

**Erik Scall-District 1 (8)**

Erik jolted his eyes open when his shoulders hit the rubber.

He blinked rapidly to acclimate his dry eyes to the musty air surrounding him. His heart rose to a crescendo into a loud hammering in his chest. Looking down, he saw the latex grey jumpsuit fitting snugly onto his body. As he reached for the fabric, his hand bounced in tight restrains. He was locked into place standing upright in the giant circular room.

A cough.

Erik whipped his head as far to the left as the rubber restrains allowed. He saw a shorter girl with straight black hair trying to suffocate a coughing fit. The dim red lights protruding from the metal walls flickered and illuminated Kerri Wakai's smooth face.

She rattled her hands in the restraints and shook the rubber frame.

"Kerri, what's going on?"

She gasped and looked over to Erik from the corner of her black eyes.

"One? Is that you?" She asked in a rough voice, her throat parched from the flicks of dust in the air.

Erik blinked again and nodded.

"Is this the Games? What about the interviews?" he asked.

Kerri scowled. "I don't know," she said. Turning to the other side, she looked at the man next to her.

"Hey, who are you?" Kerri barked at the figure in the restraints next to her. "Wake up."

"Calm down, love. I'm already awake."

Triton St. Pierre, Kerri's District partner, smirked as he opened his green eyes. Erik felt his chest tighten slighty as Triton's voice quivered in the cold air.

"Nice to hang around with you all today," he said. "I guess were in the Games now."

Erik started to shake in his restraints. It was getting harder to deny his fate as other Tributes started to wake up in the rotund room. He could barely make the outlines of the people lined up on the walls as the lights continued to flicker.

Erik gulped. "But we didn't do the interviews. What about sponsors? What ab-."

"Nobody cares."

Erik turned to the other side and saw a small teenaged boy with peanut butter brown hair glaring at the ground. He dug his short fingernails into the rubber restraints.

"Hate to break it to you, career. Nobody cares about that shit anymore. Based off the movement I feel from these restraints, we're probably in a hovercraft of some sort. Either the tranquilizers they gave us suck massive Victor balls, or this is part of the arena."

Erik looked around. More Tributes made groans or chatted with each other. One girl from six was hyperventilating. The tall blonde girl from Nine was complaining about the quality fabric on her running shoes.

"All I know," the annoyed kid said. "Is that the moment these restraints come off, all hell is gonna break loose."

A loud groaning came from above.

The Tributes froze.

Erik felt like all the oxygen in the room was sucked out like a vacuum cleaner running over tiny ants.

Bright lights exploded from the ceiling. The white light made Erik's blue eyes water as he felt the restraints release his body from its prison. While covering his eyes, he collapsed onto the ground like a rag doll. Falling face first, he rose to his knees and saw a surreal sight.

All 24 tributes were gathered in a giant cirle in the large, empty room. The metal walls clashed with the white marble floors the Tributes fell onto in the explosion of light. Save for the Tributes, the room was empty. The center of the room held nothing. Two hallway openings led to parts unknown on opposite sides of the room.

With a groan, Erik stood up. The rest of the tributes rose sporadically. However, nobody moved. As if an invisible leash chained them to the walls, the only noise emitted was the natural ringing in Erik's ear.

He was petrified as his heart hammered inside of him. If he was going to die, it was going to be from a heart attack with the suspense.

A piercing squeal of a microphone made Erik cry out. The teenagers in the room let out different shouts of shock with the sound comng from every side of the circular room.

"Hello, is anybody there?" The low, female voice asked.

No answer. Erik looked at Triton. He shrugged.

The lady cleared her throat. "Excuse me. Uh…okay. Welcome to this year's Hunger Games everybody."

The crying girl from Six gasped in shock. Erik shivered while the other Tributes looked up at the blank white ceiling.

"I know this isn't the typical exciting opening, but these aren't typical Games. I know you were all reared and ready to slaughter each other at a cornucopia with a mountain of swords and arrows."

Xenophon Cupress, the annoyed boy next to Erik, scoffed.

"Don't worry, you can all still do that. However," the cheerful voice shouted. "No weapons ae being provided at this time. Sadly, this isn't the actual arena. The real arena isn't an arena at all."

"Great," Xenephon said. "Now she's speaking in riddles. Someone shoot me."

"Believe me. If I could I would," a tall boy with black hair said with a tiny smirk at Xenephon.

"Shut up, Bruce. I want to hear." Sylvia Carlson, Bruce's district partner, said.

The lady continued. "You all are involved in an experiment in interdimensional travel. There are various worlds, realities, and dimensions that you can explore. Don't worry, we have limited where you can go. Otherwise, you might just escape."

Erik looked up in disbelief. What was this crazy lady talking about? Moving to different worlds? Dimensions? This was the Hunegr Games. Kill or be killed. This was supposed to be simple for a kid training his whole life to win.

Erik shook his head. He had trained his whole life and done nothing else. Eighteen years down the tubes.

"Anyway," she said. "The first person or group of people that reach the control panel on the top floor of this spacecraft will not only decide the first place to travel, but they will enjoy a whole 12 hours of immunity. They will not be killed in that time. If an attempt is made, that rule-breaker will be expelled from the Games."

Erik winced. "Expelled" seemed to be a nice way to put certain destruction.

"Finally, any attempt to escape will be met with a most painful death beyond your worst nightmares."

"If it's not being around you, I can live with it," Sylvia said to Bruce. He raised a middle finger at her.

"The Hunger Games will commence in just a moment." A separate male voice said on the intercom.

The lady continued. "Before we begin, I must tell you that one person in that room has a bomb implanted inside of them that will be activated on their five hundredth heartbeat at the start of the cannons. Considering all of your heartbeats are beating above one hundred and twenty beats a minute, that gives you all about three minutes to find that person and end their lives. Otherwise, many of you will be sucked into the deep vacuum of space. Not the most glorious way to go out."

Erik gasped. "No way."

Kerri scowled. "This is the bloodbath. And we don't even know where it will come from."

A cannon fired.

Erik yelped in shock as the rest of the Tributes started to panic.

**Greta Narcon-District 6 (14)**

The black haired girl backed away and leaned on the metal walls behind her. Twenty three tributes were all yelling at each other in a giant spiderweb of sound. She was completely confused as shrunk her small frame away from the crowd. The bangs on her long hair covered her dark brown eyes as they shifted around the entire center.

A bomb. In one of the Tributes. Greta tried to wrap her small head around it. Where the Gamemakers willing to blow them all up for a little drama?

She never knew how to act in social settings. Those awkward days on walking towards the lunch tables in the cafeteria yielded little but pitiful sneers and eye rolls from the cliques at school.

Finding herself standing away from the shouting teenagers in front of her, she saw a clear picture of the fray.

The career tributes had quickly found each other and yelled about what to do. The tall and plain girl from One was pointing at the other side of the room.

"One of them has the bomb. There's no way it's here." She yelled.

The loud brunette from Two pulled the other girl's hand down. "You're going to give me a headache. For all we know, you have the bomb."

The short, angry kid from Two stood straight and looked up at the ceiling. "We only have about two minutes at this rate."

"How do you know it's not you?" The guy from Six said.

"Why are they doing this? We just have to kill anyway," The tiny black child from Eleven said.

Greta got off of the wall and felt an unease in her stomach. She itched with anticipation as she walked forward. She felt herself float over to another small group of people. Noticing a tall white kid with thin, obsidian hair, she tugged at his arm. The boy turned around and looked down at her.

"Greta," Jason Castellan from Three said. "That's your name, right?"

She nodded. "I think I know who has the bomb."

Jace's dull brown eyes shot wide open as he examined the girl. Greta clasped her hands behind her back and swayed slightly.

"What? How is that possible?"

With the other Tributes arguing with each other, Greta pointed at one of the Careers. The plain girl from One who had her arms crossed at one of the other girls in the Career pack.

"She has the bomb. I heard the beep coming from her."

Jace nodded at her. Looking over at the Career pack, he sighed. "So what should we do? The more we panic, the closer we get to dying."

As soon as the words left his parched mouth, a voice cut through the yelling and screaming.

"Shut up, you losers."

An auburn haired girl with pale freckles spun around the room with a dark glare in her green eyes. "You're making it worse. The more we panic, the sooner we get killed. If somebody is going to die, it's only one person."

"If its a nuclear bomb, none of us are leaving," the thin girl from Five said.

"Shut up, Chloe," Maiza Bluhurte said. "The point I am getting at is that somebody here may get us all killed. So, just come out now and we can kill you."

"Excellent speech, dumb bitch."

Sylvia slapped Bruce on the back of the head. "Like you have a better plan."

While the Tributes continued to yell at each other, Greta turned to Jace and tugged his sleeve. They both stepped back slightly from the crowd and turned around. Greta leaned up to his ears.

"I think I have an idea. Can you stand back here for a minute?"

"If it gets us out of her, I'm all in."

Greta nodded and walked towards the twins from Twelve. Petunia Arkgrime was clinging to her brother's arm like a boa constrictor eating a rat. Her straight, black hair flowed to her hips while she bore a steel gaze towards the other tributes. She looked like a bulldog defending a bone from other attack dogs. Foster, her twin, was sweating profusely while tapping his foot nervously.

Greta cleared her throat. "Excuse me, but can I say something."

Petunia whipped her head towards her and narrowed her eyes. "What do you want?"

"I know who has the bomb."

Petunia grew a small smile on her face. Foster shivered in shock like a bucket of water fell on him. "Do tell."

Greta folded her hands together like a nervous schoolgirl. "It's actually that guy from Three I was talking to. He just admitted that he has the bomb. He told me that he hears it inside him and the red blinker can be seen through his hand."

Petunia looked at Jace, who was leaning on the back wall.

"Why are you telling us this," Foster said.

Greta bounced on her tiptoes nervously. "During training, he said and did many bad things to me. He's trying to keep me in an alliance to gain sponsors. He's trying to keep me prisoner."

Petunia squeezed Foster's arms tighter. "So we need to get rid of him."

Foster gasped. "Petunia, stop. You don't have to do anything."

Petunia tapped Foster on the nose playfully. "If it means staying with you, big brother, I can live with it."

She looked over at Greta and smiled at her. "So, you made sure to separate him from the rest of us. So we can corner him?"

Greta nodded.

Petunia strolled over to the center of the room.

* * *

So what is going to happen next? Let me know.

What is Greta's plan? Who is going to live or die?

Yes, I am continuing. I will finish these Games. End of story!

Thank you so much. Please keep reviewing!


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